


Springtrap - Project Gaia

by Noranum



Series: Springtrap [4]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Aliens, Alternate History, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Politics, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Civil War, Gen, Ghosts, Inspired by Five Nights at Freddy's, Magic, No Sex, Paranormal, Politics, Prison, Therapy, Undead, Undeath, War, nobody will read this right?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-02
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2019-08-14 16:20:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 80,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16496057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Noranum/pseuds/Noranum
Summary: Part four already.Civil War. Rebels vs. a Headless Military vs. the Free World vs. Animatronics. And Springles right in the middle. He will face the worst abominations of the human mind. Hatred, abused technology, greed, fanatism.And while humankind is mostly busy with itself, something tries to sneak in, twisting the minds of the weak.The Void will come.More boring stuff. Read it or don't. Like it or don't. I'm happy about kudos and even more so comments, but right about now I just want to finish this story. If something comes after PG, I don't know. Probably not.





	1. Chapter 1

**Springtrap – Project Gaia**

 

 

Five Nights at Freddy's, Freddy Fazbear Entertainment, Golden Freddy, Golden Bonnie, Spring Bonnie, Springtrap, William Afton and all other names and/or brands not listed here are property of Scott Cawthon.  
The plot this story is based on is property of Scott Cawthon.

 

This story is in no way meant to be considered official or canon.  
This story is not meant to glorify, induce or excuse violence, child abuse, rape, and murder, or their committees.  
This story is not based on real facts, locations, persons, enterprises, or events. Everything in here is to be considered made up. Also, it is has almost nothing to do with any game made by Scott Cawthon. Differences between this story and the actual plot of said games are part of the project.

 

**Please be aware that this story is placed in an alternate timeline that greatly differs from our world's history!**

 

I would like to thank GraWolfQuinn, Negaduck9, and Leda465 from DeviantArt for being sources of inspiration, as well as Myafosya from AO3 for being such a nice reader.

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**We are our own worst enemy.**

 

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 **09.11.2020 – Webworks** (Project Gaia 1)

 

 

Altoona, Pennsylvania. A ghost town. Abandoned buildings. Some craters where the military had dropped their bombs in a vain attempt to fight the robotic danger. That was the official version. But the hive was too far underground to reach. As they were all. Most of the explosions had hit the shanty town – it was still burning. A strike against the rebels, to weaken the foothold they had managed to get at both coasts. Ultimately, army and rioters had been driven away by the steadily rising number of animatronics, leaving the remaining civilians undefended. It had been a matter of time for the last human to die.

In a remote side road, a large, black truck was parked, surrounded by destroyed Fazaka robots. A couple of combat droids, still on their guard, accompanied by heavily armed peacemaker troops. Possibly the last signs of civilization in this ruin of a town.

It was a gloomy day, and the smoke of the fires further darkened the clouded sky. Good for the snipers, dressed in black, hidden all around the makeshift fortification. The armored peacemakers were barely the last line. The real fighting happened further away. From the roofs, experimental electro-bullets, each shoot brought a robot down. And of course the occasional flaming green arrow.

It had been quiet for some twenty minutes. The last volley of Fazaka animatronics had dropped out mid-fight, to retreat. A good sign. In fact, most people were sure that their work here was done. That was the common procedure. The plated agency truck and a couple of task-force peacemaker vehicles would make their way to a specific location, especially picked for being well defensible, as well as having access to the blue webworks. That was the name the Agency had given the local transmitter networks found around each hive. Small, toy-sized animatronics build these networks, disguised as discarded plushies. Nobody would suspect a moldy old bunny plushy lying at the sidewalk to be part of a secret attempt to ready a whole town for the upcoming hostile takeover. Once the location was secured, the Agency would then start to corrupt the blue webworks. Turning them purple. Since the hives had sealed themselves off after the first attack wave to replenish their troops, closing the original access, it was impossible to directly attack them. Nobody knew how exactly a hive managed to produce new robots, since they didn't contain any of the necessary machinery. The current theory was, that production centers like Rochester somehow supplied hives in their respective area with fresh troops. Maybe even using sorcery to do so. New hives popped up, while old ones would resurface once they had new animatronics to send out. Since Rochester was dark, at least New York, Massachusetts, and Connecticut were able to be freed of their hives for good. Even when the methods were far from being ideal. With the remaining production plants still hidden, and the supply routes invulnerable, it had to be done manually.

One hive at a time.

Progress was extremely slow. Even more so because of the ongoing skirmishes between the angry masses and the military. While the rebels usually avoided attacking the Council troops directly, they often blocked strategically important roads, easily locking down parts of towns and cities. However, as the war went on, nerves grew more tense, and the rebels, lacking any intern organization or structure, became more and more aggressive. Often falling back to looting as their primary supply. Which in turn made them hostile towards the police, and therefor the peacemakers. Even more so after the police had officially sided with the Global Council, trying to keep the majority of civilians safe, even from their own national army. Which was a hard task, given the fact that the murder of president Davis had sparked a nationwide riot, that brought almost a third of the total population on the streets, where they fought against the system that had let them rot in misery since the bankruptcy 1982.

Violence. Born out of frustrated desperation.

Even without the riot boiling in all slums and lower class quarters, the military had picked up Davis' last assumption that the Council, represented by GASE, had started the robot war to weaken the United States, and they were actively fighting the peacemakers and the Agency. Many local command centers had been destroyed, supply chains cut, agents forced to retreat behind the borders of Canada, Wabanaki, and the Kingdom. All operations had to be planned meticulously, far away from active fights, preferably in regions that had been abandoned.

The Agency had no business interfering in the war. That was the job of the peacemakers. No, they continued trying to find out as much as possible about Fazaka, turning dark as many hives as possible.  
All that while trying to keep hidden from the army.

Inside the truck, people waited. Agents, cautiously looking at screens, comparing data. Some already calculated the location of the next operation. While they were not exactly stressed, everyone remained focused on their individual task.  
Dr. Natasha Durov, the Russian specialist send by the Global Council, eyed the purple glowing display. Her English was rather bad, but she had managed to understand at least enough of Fazaka's cryptic technology to create a program that was able to render an image of the blue webworks. In fact, the whole plan to access the hives using their transmitter systems had been her idea. She eagerly watched the last blue node, in the center of the purple net.

Until it, too, turned purple.

“Specter down.” she announced, to which many of the agents cheered.

The webworks dissolved.

And Springtrap finally returned to his body.

“Elisa Pence.” he said groggily while getting up from the chair “Born May the third, 2004. Got turned during the initial attack. No tracks of the original specter of this hive.”

“Noted.” answered Kitty, putting the data in the file “More important: Are you alright?”

“Kinda.” responded Springtrap while pulling the purple glowing cable out of his head.  
It instantly turned dark, as did the complex machinery behind the chair.

“Kinda good or kinda bad?”

“Kinda don't know. These webworks were smaller than usual. Not enough to fully calculate the merge. I'm really tired.”

“You can straight go to sleep. We'll be here at least one more day. You finally managed to outrun our planners.”

At least, that made Springtrap smile a little bit.

“Told you that this will happen. Anyway, something new?” and he threw a curious look at the large survey display.

“Not really. A small gunfight in Washington, but the rebels still hold the White House.”

“No news is good news.”

“Agreed.”

“'Nother bitch bite the dust.” announced Lance the second he entered the mobile base.

Just three days after the murder of president Davis, the Agency had upgraded most of Springtrap's and Lance's robotic components, readying them for the upcoming conflict. They both now had heavily modified limbs, silently moving joints, strong servos, and advanced sensors. Springtrap's right arm had been equipped with a focusing array, so he could safely launch his lightnings regardless of what he wore. The other arm now sported a rather experimental optical data storage, which he was able to connect to most technology in order to take it over, without the need to physically enter the device itself. Also, the data stored there was safe from the magnetic field he build up when using his lightning powers.

Still, Lance – now by the alias Bucky – looked far more like an actual secret service agent. He wore a camouflage stealth suit, head to toe, the mask even modified to allow enough room for the muzzle, and openings for his antlers. The Agency had offered to him to rebuild him into a more human form. Which he refused, for some reason. Despite the highly advanced cameras they had for eyes, Lance was still farsighted. Something that puzzled the engineers. His bow and a large pouch of arrows on his back, and a waterproof notebook with his sorceries at his belt, he indeed sported the look of some sort of comic book hero.

The probably most important new discovery was the blue metal.

While Springtrap recovered from his merge with the specter of Boston, he accidentally found out that he could corrupt the substance, turning it from blue to purple, which allowed him almost full control over the physical form and properties. The last month had been filled with experimentation, resulting in the device that made it possible to take over the enemy's webworks by connecting Springtrap to it. Lance, however, had used his orange metal to fashion new arrow tips. Once corrupted, the metal obeyed. In fact, since he had a will far stronger than Springtrap, it was easy for Lance to toy around with this new-found tool. His arrows were now able to store any kind of sorcery. Be it banefire or raw force, everything could be woven into the projectiles, erupting once they hit a target, without being destroyed in the process. Even with this not being an option for the Agency's common ammunition, some agents had started to train with bows, since a prepared arrow could be used by anyone, and these were actually more efficient that their usual gear.

While the full range of this extremely important discovery had yet to be understood, it was obvious how much of an advantage this would be in the future. Unfortunately, it still remained a mystery how this substance was created, but since the Agency had salvaged so many animatronics, as well as the main processors of Rochester and the hive in Boston, they had plenty of material to work with.

With the north-eastern states firmly in the hand of the peacemakers, Boston and New York City had become the major bridgeheads for the operations of the Council troops, securing supply lines from Wabanaki, Canada, the Northern Federation, and Iceland. Was it not for the robots, this could have been simple attrition warfare.

Despite this, the Agency had decided to stay mobile. The truck that housed their base was quite large, too big to fit through any tunnel or bridge. It contained a large amount of scouting and communication technology as well as bunk beds and storage for the agents. Accompanied by a couple of peacemaker field vehicles, even a mobile kitchen, this was an almost self-sustaining caravan, with the sole purpose to take out the remaining hives. Which so far had been rather successful. Even with the initial hopes quite low, the operation had been able to take out eleven hives in a little more than three weeks. A result that had changed the opinion of most eyebrow-raisers. Even Sergeant Banda, the commanding officer of the peacemakers securing the truck, had been convinced that this was the most effective way to fight the source of the problem. At least for now.

“Since that's done, when are we movin' to the next?” asked Lance, sounding quite eager.

“Good to see that you're enjoying your job.” commented Kitty with a smirk.

Lance pulled the mask off his face, his floppy deer ears popping up.

“Wouldn't say that I enjoy a fuckin' war. But I'm a simple mind, and havin' a purpose is really liftin' my mood. Plus, I finally have a talent some guy with a degree in assfuckin' can't take away from me.”

“At least you are honest, Bucky.”

“Always. It's better to move on than sittin' in the dark and broodin'. Uh. No offense, Bunny.”

Springtrap yawned.

“Say what you like.” he responded “I'm so tired that I forget it the moment it enters my head.”

“We are done for today anyway.” said Kitty, then she nodded towards the peacemaker sergeant “The troops will get green light for moving in, and we should be on our way tomorrow.”

“Bedtime, then.”

“So I'm alone with the ghosts this time, eh?” asked Lance.

“Sorry buddy. I'll do it the next two times, I ju-”

“Hey, all cool. Ya the one here doin' the actual work. If I can take somethin' of ya shoulders I'm happy. Get ya snooze, ya have earned it.”

“Oki doki. See you all tomorrow.”

Agents and peacemakers alike wished him a good night, and Springtrap went into the separated resting area, crawled into his bunk and was asleep before he even could get all in.

Lance however got ready for his next task. Carefully putting the purple metal bowl in a backpack, as well as a map of the area.

“Do you need any help, Bucky?” wondered Kitty.

“Nah, ya guys can't do anythin'. But... I wouldn't say no to some company.”

“I'm coming!” blurted Weasel, jumping up from her chair and eagerly getting dressed.

Both Lance and Kitty seemed surprised.

“Uh, well, fine. But since it's only me, that'll take far longer than usual. Let's say... two hours, at least. Probably more.”

“I don't care!” announced the old lady happily “After staring at screens for days in a row, I just need some fresh air. And a little bit of spookynes.”

 

Some minutes later, the two left the mobile base.

“Sooo. Where are we heading?” asked Weasel.

“Seekin' a place where the Veil is both thin and even.”

“And that means?”

“Uh, see... The Veil's a barrier. But it's not solid. It has tides, but also changes to react on the stuff happenin' on this here side. Memories. When many people meet at a place, the memories they create make the Veil thin.”

“Why?”

“We don't know. When a mortal dies, the Veil will become thicker at their place of death. Probably to hinder the ghosts from goin' back to the livin' world. Maybe somethin' totally different. No clue. So, we search a place where people meet peacefully. That would be the 'thin' part. 'Even' means that the memories created at this place are good and nice ones. The Veil is always a little ruffy and blurry. But when people actively try to forget a place, this will worsen.”

“To sum it up: We want a location where many people meet under good and peaceful circumstances.”

“Exactly.”

“Does something like this exist? In these times?”

“The Bunny and I tried around the last couple of times. So far, our best pick was a kindergarten. Many people like to remember their time there. If there's no such a place, a playground could do. A movies, too.”

“And why such a special place?”

“Uh. Well. The whole system with the Fadin' Rooms is not really workin'. When all people would die a natural death, we'd not have any ghosts. The moment ya die the Rooms would be ready to take ya in. But that's not how it is, right? People die long before the Rooms are finished shapin'. So they roam. Either in the Rooms or here. First we thought they would run out of eldritch energy sooner or later, but maybe that's not true. However, we don't want them here. It's not good for us or for them. Bad enough that they got killed, but bein' trapped here? Horrible. So we try to offer them an easy and nice way into the Rooms usin' us as gateway. Since most are upset or confused, and the beacon can only do so much, we need a place that calms down the lost ones. Ya won't hear stories about haunted kindergartens, right?”

“No, mostly it is places with horrible history.”

“See. Cause the Veil is all thick and blurry there. Upsets a ghost.”

“Understood. So, we're heading to the local kindergarten. And what then?”

“That's the tricky part. I'll set up a beacon. It's... a tiny fragment of the Rooms. Is sorcery. Not my best, to be honest.”

“And this will call these lost ones to you?”

“Hopefully. If they want to leave. As I said, most are not in their best mood. Sometimes they want to talk. Sometimes they don't even know that they died. Now and then we had to use a little bit of force to make them leave. I'm honest to ya: It will be borin' as fuck for ya. Can't see or hear a ghost, so it'll will be me talkin' to the air and so on.”

“That much I expected.” answered Weasel while fiddling with one of her gadgets “But still. I really want to get out of this truck. Kitty didn't want me here at all. I had to pull some tricks to remind her that nobody else understands the Agency's technology like I do, because I _developed_ most of it. And now she doesn't want me outside. Outrageous.”

“Uh, well, she doesn't want ya to get hurt.”

“It is war. Getting hurt is part of the whole idea. Now. There is a kindergarten, but it seems to be more than a mile away.”

“That's fine.” responded Lance “Cuz' I just figured that it'll be a good idea to light the beacon earlier. Mine doesn't reach as far as Bunny's, so, carryin' it around a little could do the trick.”

That said, Lance took the small bowl out of his backpack, and set it to the ground. He stared at it for some seconds, before picking it up again. Gently brushing his fingertips over the uneven surface. The carvings started to glow, but even before they all lighted up, the color changed from purple to orange. The metal became a coppery orange tone, attuning itself to Lance's sorcery.  
He proceeded to move his free hand through the air over the bowl, before pressing the small object against his chest.  
When he pulled it back, right in the center of the bowl, an eery flame resided. Not a real fire, more like silvery, glittering mist, imitating the motions of a flame. A very lazy flame.  
He looked at it some more, to make sure that it would stay lit, before he jagged the bowl into his antlers. And it was obvious that it had been formed to be put precisely there.

“That is the beacon now, right?” asked Weasel, curiously observing the slowing rising wafts and tufts of mist.  
The sickly pale light wasn't quite strong enough to illuminate the area, and still, its shine could be felt. It was rather soothing. Gentle even. Ensuring the mortal heart that there was a place after death.

“Yeah. This mist is the stuff the Rooms are made of. Does it do somethin' to ya?”

“Well, I do feel relaxed, yes.”

“But not... happy?”

“No, calm.”

“Good.”

“Why?”

“Cause that means ya not supposed to die anytime soon.”

“Uh...?”

“Ah, forget it. As I said, my beacon is not that strong. Should cover not more than a mile or two. Springles can do much more with his own.”

“And that means? What is 'much more'?”

“Well, he was able to cover the whole of New York City. Lurin' hundreds of lost ghosts, even those who had been there for years.”

“Understood. That indeed is 'much more'.”

“Yeah.”

Weasel finally managed to move her view away from the beacon.

“If I got this right, then you are the better sorceror, so, why is Bunny's guiding light stronger?”

“Hah, I'm bullshittin' my way through this all. Seriously, we both have almost zero clue, I am just a little bite... Ugh. Well. Hard to explain.”

“Try it.”

“Kay, see... sorcery is willpower. Forcin' shit to leave the Rooms and do what ya want on this here side of the Veil. That's what I am rather good at. Bunny has not that much of a will on his own. So he is... good at... doin' it the other direction. Pushin' stuff _into_ the Rooms. Remind all this shit here to follow the rules, ya know? Ghosts belong to the Rooms, and he can make it the way it should be. That's why he can even undo sorcery. Somethin' I can't do, like, at all.”

“I think I got it.”

“I doubt that. Am not the best explainer. Plus, this whole stuff is not really understandable.”

“Maybe. But I like it. So. Now that the beacon is lit, we head straight to the place?”

“Ya have a map in there?” asked Lance, pointing at Weasel's HUD.

“Sure.”

“Good. It'll be better to walk around a little bit, first. S-lines, if ya get me. I don't think that I catch all the lost ones here, but I'd like to get as many as possible.”

“All right. A nice walk is quite what I need.”

They went on for some minutes, silently looking at the dead town around. Since the Agency had given green light, the peacemakers would move in soon. To secure the place, and collect the bodies. The task force had long abandoned the idea to actually hinder the slaughter. Not everyone agreed with this decision, but it had to be made.

It was hard to imagine the horrors that had happened here. Animatronics – cheery toy characters – breaking into houses, killing people, or dragging them away so they could be turned into a specter. Nightmarish, indeed.

“Hey, Weasel... could ya... erm...” Lance's mumbling stopped suddenly, then he took a deep breath and started again “Hey, why did ya want to come with me?”

“I just said it: I really need to get out of this cramped truck.” and Weasel grinned “Why? Do I make you uncomfortable?”

“Yes.”

Her grin faded away, to be replaced by surprise.

“What?”

Lance sighed.

“Should have thought so. Ya probably don't remember me, eh? But I remember ya.”

“Remember? From where?”

“Yuthan Waverunner TC 42, the long version, build in 2009. Nice ship, really. Not a floatin' palace like others, but still spacious and comfy. Three phased engine, smooth. Heavily customized interior and wirin'. Always learned somethin' new whenever I had a chance to peek under the hood. Kay, I mostly talked to ya... to the owner, but his _wife_ had been there, too. Since it's not that usual for a black couple to own a luxury yacht, I remember them well.”

Weasel got it. She looked away.

“I see.”

“Hey, I know we're not supposed to talk about stuff like that, but... Well. It reminds me of a better life. Didn't exactly love my job, but it was an income. And... and it allowed me to offer my kids the education I never had. I loved my children. I miss them. Worked ten hours a day tendin' for rich people's boats, just to allow my kids a future. I lost what little I had. Just three years ago. Funny. Feels like a century. Got the boot, and had to get creative to get some money while stayin' out of crime. I tried to not let it show. Skipped a meal each day so my kids wouldn't go to bed hungry. I think they knew.”

“Children can be smart and dumb at the same time.” responded Weasel “I'm a parent, too.”

“Thought so. Why risk ya life when ya have a family?”

”Well. Easy said: I lost a child as well. My first born. A nice boy, but too smart. Tried to bypass rules. Originally, my profession with information technology was what made people interested in me. I already was an agent when I met my husband. Not for GASE, sure, but still I believed that my work could save lives. So, I stayed. The family was running nicely, even when I was away for some days or weeks. Well. That much I thought. Of course I knew a thing or two about Freddy Fazbear Entertainment. Oh how often I called my kids to the carpet, reminding them that they will never, ever, set a foot near to one of these hellhouses. But my oldest had too much from me. Forbid something, and you just sparked his interest. Today I think that I should have told him all. Not sparing the details I thought to be not right for a ten-year-old to know. Maybe he would have kept his promise, and kept away from Freddy's. Well. I've been in Ghana for a month and a half. No way to stay in contact with the spouse. And when I came back, I had one kid less. That may be nothing compared to you, bu-”

“Don't say that. There's no charts of horrible shit. Is all equally bad.”

“I know. Back then, it was war. A world war. I was the angry black moma, demanding officials to solve the case of her dead child. Got told that people had better to do. War. Politics. Wasting human life. But behind the scenes, people already worked towards the formation of the Council. I was one of them. Angry. Out for revenge. I was so mad about both Freddy's and Fazaka dodging every and all responsibility that I wanted to make sure that this new world government has the tools to blow up criminal secrecy. The Agency is more or less the result of this frustration.”

“Wow, so ya the master mind, huh?”

“I used to be, yes. Nowadays, other people are in charge, but I like to make sure that they do not forget the reason they came to exist.”

“Weird. Ya don't look the type. Back then, ya just were a black granny who enjoyed her past time on a boat trip. And now we met again.” mused Lance, his view wandering over the ruined houses “Strange thin'. If I hadn't become a specter, we'd never knew each other.”

“Most connections in life happen by accident. Try to see it like this: Despite everything, we have a thing in common. We both are parents. We both try to ensure a better future.”

“Hopefully. I'm still not happy about... well... more or less workin' for the government.”

“We are not 'government'. Our funds may come from the Council, but we're in no way political. No. Our duty is to make sure that, some day, parents like you and me don't have to go through the grief of losing a child. Not to war, not to famine, not because of corrupted politics caring for names and titles instead of actual human life.”

“That's a nice motivation.”

“It is. But still so much work has to be done. I will not live to see the result. But some day... Why am I saying this to you? Probably because you know this grief. This frustration. I tried to go the lawful way, but nobody was there to listen. I tried to move some strings and pawns, but had to learn that there was an immovable obstacle. Money. People in important positions, backing each other. I felt powerless. So, after the Council had been formed, I stayed quiet for some time. Spending months in the labs, to develop new ways for us to get information. Back then, people knew how to analyze the human brain, but not how to read it. Even claimed it to be not readable at all. Well. Build an exact celebramite copy of the brain in question, put an AI in charge, and force it to tell you everything. That may be a little bit unorthodox, but allows us to read the minds even of the dead. Most modern technology around the brain is based on the insights we got by studying a celebramite brain that had been formed after a human one. I tried to keep myself busy so I wouldn't think too much about Fazaka. But that changed when I learned about the... exhumation of our bunny-eared friend. First I thought him to be part of the whole crime spree. Didn't think much about it, he was just a source of information. Like any other. But you change your mind once you find a scared child inside an adult shaped shell. A last time, I pulled all my strings, to set things into motion. On stage, behind the stage, and even behind the theater. Sadly, it has not been enough to prevent this catastrophic disaster. And now we are here. Surrounded by the ruins of a nation. Trying to calm the ghosts left behind by cataclysm. How poetic.”

“Kinda.”

Weasel sighed.

“I already talked enough. But let me tell you one more thing: You need to overcome your grief, but try to keep a tiny little piece of it. Hide it well, both from you and from others. And whenever you feel you slow down, losing any sense of direction, pick up this little shard, look at it, and remember.”

“Fuck.” said Lance, staring at a tight gap between two houses.

“That was a well-meant-”

“Shh. Maybe it'll back away.” mumbled Lance with audible tension in his voice.

Weasel looked confused.

“What? Who will-”

“God damn, _shut up_!” he snarled “Ugh! Fuck, it comes closer.”

“What the hell?”

“A wraith. Long dead human, almost faded away.” Lance made himself ready, eyes locked with the torn figure that slowly creeped closer.

Weasel turned around, but of course couldn't see anything.

“Should we retreat?” she asked.

“Nah. No use. Wraiths are hunters. Feedin' of a human's fear. Can go through solid matter. Guess the beacon called it to me. Weird. Usually these refuse to leave.”

“What is a-”

“Remains of a ghost. While most of the person is long gone, negative stuff like hatred, fear, or anger are still here. Is not person enough to be reasoned with, but can fuck up a mortal's mind quite a bit. Of course this happens when I am all alone with a mortal at my side. Fuckin' shit. Okay. Okay okay, can do this. Listen. Stay close to me. Don't run. Hear me, do not run away. Try to think of sunshine and tasty sweets and so on. I'll try to take it down as quick as I can, but... but try to stay positive. Hear me? Positive. Ya know any child songs or lullaby?”

“Some.”

“Sing one. Like, right now.”

 

 

“Unusual.” said the tall man made of black granite.

“I would rather say suspicious.” added the white skinned woman.

“That is why I called you.” said the Elder “I found it by change. Nothing I know could explain this.”

For a silent moment, the three looked at the dark corridor in front of them. It was silent. No silvery mist, no whispers, no hint of any mortal memory. No, the pitchblack tunnel felt... dead. While the Fading Rooms all led into the distance, connecting the pathways of deceased humans, this single tunnel led nowhere.

And that was not how it was supposed to be.

“The Rooms should grow. Stretch out. Widen.” said the man “Not shrink. Nor should they led into nothingness.”

“Into a void. A void without content. No song can be heard. No remorse. No joy. It feels like the corridor itself just died. What could this be?” wondered the snowy woman.

“That is the question I wanted to ask you.” answered the Elder “In all my years I never encountered something like this. Because it just happened shortly after I learned about undead without a body, I thought that there my be a link.”

“Possible, yes.” agreed the man “Within the last decades, more undead had been created than in the centuries before. Maybe this is just how a path looks like when the human it was shaped for becomes undead?”

“But why does it feel so... so dreadful?”

“I do not know.”

“We should contact some others.” suggested the woman “Not only old ones like we are. Whatever this here is, I do not like it. And something tells me that we do not want this to spread.”

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**16.11.2020 – Tick tock** (Project Gaia 2)

 

 

Inch by inch, the tiny bunny crawled away. Cautiously scanning the environment before each single movement. At the slightest hint of a threat, it would go limp, relying on its innocent and moldy looks to be left alone.

“Hah, gotcha!” said Kitty triumphantly, grabbing the plushie at its ears.

The toy sized animatronic struggled vigorously, razor-sharp teeth popped up. The right arm produced what looked like an electrical bone saw.

“Every kid's favorite.” commented the agent, before expertly wrapping the murderous midget.

She hurried to get off the roof, jumping onto the awning, and from there to the ground, quick and silent.

“Special delivery.” she said, presenting Springtrap with the shaking bundle.

He hastily took it, stared at it, almost in trance. Just some seconds later, the movements of the captured bunny stopped.  
People watched with tense nerves as he started to unpack it again. The plushy head popped up. Eyes glowing purple.  
Cheers.

“Finally.” said Springtrap with audible relief “Fully functional. No damage. We finally were fast enough to corrupt it before it could trigger its self-destruction.”

“My pleasure.” responded Kitty.

“Good thing that you're such a good acrobat.”

“And that we had an observant sniper with us who spotted the little devil up there.”

Springtrap nodded, holding the plush bunny up, curiously looking at it from all sides, wiggling the tiny ears, pushing the little mouth open. On command, it showed the teeth.

“What a nightmare of a toy.” he mumbled.

“Does this thing have an official name?”

“Not that I would know. We had plush toys back then, mostly the main characters. Freddy Fazbear, Bonnie, and their golden variants. But this here doesn't look like a Bonnie. Probably was never intended to go into public circulation. I'll name it Plushtrap.”

“Plush... trap?”

“Well, 'Mini-Me' would be cliche.”

“Okay... Plushtrap it is. Our scientists will have a blast with this one.”

“Let's hope they'll get some information about the webworks out of it. Or how this little twerp is able to produce the blue metal.”

“Agreed. Is the transmitter down?” and Kitty looked at the thin spire. It was purple, but didn't glow any more.

“Yep. We'll take it with us. More metal for arrows.”

Michigan. Somewhere west of Detroit. The area was a single slum, entire square kilometers plastered with huts and shacks. Tens of thousands had been lured by the growing robotics industries in Detroit. Even with the US somewhat behind global standards, Michigan was a powerhouse of economy. All these people here tried to find work. Producing robots that ultimately would replace them.

No wonder that the riots here had swept local forces away like a storm some leafs. Even with the rebels fully in charge, this particular faction was rather friendly towards the Council troops, allowing access to the whole state. They probably hoped that by cooperating with the Council, they could win favor for their planned independence. A nation of the poor. Despite everything, major experts in the Council's ranks were rather positive that this makeshift nation could survive. The local gangleaders cared about their people. As soon as the governmental forces had been driven away, the fighting – and looting – had stopped, and now most people worked actively to keep the situation controllable. That was, of course, one of the reasons they had called for the task force. Three hives had been located all over Michigan. With most of the state being either slum, factory, or field, and the great lakes forming somewhat of a natural border, the rebels had struggled to keep the robots at bay.

Global command had decided that locations with larger population were more important, so the task force had set off to clean Michigan as soon as the rebel leaders had ensured them safe access. Surprisingly, it all went by calm and smooth. The troops send by the rebels helped the peacemakers to keep the hives busy long enough for Springtrap to corrupt the webworks. While things were not exactly ideal, tension was low. A more than welcome opportunity for the peacemakers and agents to calm down a little after weeks in the field.

However, after the last hive had been turned purple, some new transmitter nodes had been popping up. With no specter to coordinate them, the leftover drones simply had continued their task, erecting new nodes at random spots. Six of these drones had been located, and the attempts to capture one 'alive' had failed. Until now.

The agents and peacemakers started to deconstruct the transmitter. It was simply standing in the middle of a muddy road between the huts. This lack of secrecy alone was proof that there were no specters left.

“Well, compared to our usual routine, this was almost easy.” said Springtrap while carefully uprooting the device “No endlessly long gun fights, no negotiations slowing us down, not even the webworks were challenging for me.”

“Maybe we are just getting used to it.” responded Kitty, looking away “But yes, I agree, this was nice and well done. Except of course all those eyes watching from the shadows...” suddenly she turned around, raising her voice “Hey you, if you want something, come out and ask!”

Springtrap followed her view, looking at the shady gap between two shacks. He knew that Kitty had augmented hearing, so she probably was right with her assumption about a secret watcher. Of course, this was a inhabited area, but the people living here usually followed this unwritten law that staying silent and out of sight meant staying safe. In fact, beside the armed rebels that had accompanied the task force, they never met anyone at all.

The more of a surprise it was that, after some moments, someone left the cover of the darkness. A boy. Not older than ten. Ratty apparel, unkempt hair, quite thin. Either orphaned by the civil war, or his parents had hit rock bottom long ago. He looked at the armed people with big eyes. It was obvious that something urgent was troubling him.

“Keep your hands on your gun.” whispered Kitty to Springtrap “Last thing we need is a kid running away with our gear.”

“Isn't that a little bit harsh?”

“Bunny, I've _been_ this kid. Puppy eyes and submissive posture, and snap, off you run with whatever thing you managed to grab.”

“Noted.”

Kitty nodded, and turned her attention towards the boy.

“Do you speak English?” she asked.

The kid nodded.

“Good. Then tell me why you've been watching us for twenty minutes. Don't look at me like this, I'm a spy, and you are not exactly good at keeping a low profile.”

The kid's view wandered over to the dismantled transmitter. Then to Springtrap.

“You... you know what this is?” he finally asked, showing rotten teeth.

“Yes: non of your business, that's what it is.”

“It makes people strange.” mumble the child.

“Whatever, keep away.”

“Hey, wait.” Springtrap shoved Kitty aside “What do you mean? Strange in what way?”

“They stare at it for hours. Talking to themselves. I... I don't know what they say. Don't want to go near to this thing. But you can make it stop?”

“Yes, that's what we do. Have you seen something like this before?”

The kid nodded.

“You think it's another transmitter, Bunny?”

“Could be, yes. Maybe one we couldn't locate with our tools...”

“Worth a look?”

“Think so. Hey kiddo, how long... when did this thing you know of showed up?”

“Some weeks ago or so...”

“Is it something similar to this here?” Springtrap pointed at the transmitter.

“No. Nothing like this. It's all edgy and strange. I think it grows.”

“Not good. Could you show me the way?”

Again, the boy nodded.

“You plan to investigate this?” asked Kitty Springtrap.

“Yeah. Could be a trick, I know, but imagine... maybe it's the seed of a new hive? Maybe something completely different. I am sure we have not yet seen everything Fazaka came up with.”

“Good point. I don't want to leave this here alone, but I also don't want you to go alone, so...”

“I'm a big bunny.” answered Springtrap with a smirk “I think I can handle a...” his smirk faded away, to be replaced by growing concern “... a child?”

“That's what I thought.” responded Kitty “Okay, four peacemakers will go with Bunny. Stay on radio all the time. The rest of us will return the transmitter to the base, as well as our little plushie here.”

While people got ready, Kitty pulled Springtrap closer.

“Be on your guard. You're not used to... something like this. Just think of everyone as a thief, only interested in paying for their next meal. Try to avoid dead ends, or anything resembling a tunnel. If something should happen, use your tranquilizer gun. That's the reason you have it. Don't spare anyone, neither a kid nor a granny, understood?”

“Aren't you a little bit-”

“Bunny. You're about to enter the worst thing humankind ever allowed to exist: Social misery. Trust me. I used to be one of these people – stealing, bribing, luring, cheating, lying – as long as it brings some food on the table, they will do everything. I want you to come back in one piece. Now off you go. Report if anything strange happens.”

“Aye aye, ma'am.”

 

Together with his four guards, Springtrap followed the boy into the sprawling shanty town.  
And was quite thankful for his boots.  
Mud. And probably human filth. His nose had been shut down the whole time, and he didn't intend to change anything about that.

The boy, at least, didn't seem too suspicious. Not like someone who tried to lure a couple of fools into a trap. He made sure that they kept close, but nervous he wasn't. No, more like someone who had learned to not feel anything at an early age. Springtrap tried to not get himself distracted by brooding. Which was only somewhat effective. He hasn't been this close to a child for decades. Always making sure to stay away from his brother's place whenever the grandchildren stayed there. And now this. He felt the cold fear wailing up inside of him.

Slowing down a little, he waved for one of the peacemakers to go in front of him. Luckily, the soldier complied. Surrounded by society's most miserable parts, Springtrap was more concerned about his inner vileness. Maybe that was even the reason he put so much effort into this whole operation? Simply to run away from his own shadow? That would be bad. He used to do this his whole life. His therapy had finally forced him to face the disgusting parts of his mind, and his past. Returning to this old coping was probably the worst thing that could happen. Drowning himself in work, shutting down most parts of his mind, just to reach the set goal. He had been there before. Remember to smile?

Out of the sudden, he had an intrusive need to feel pain. Usually, this would lead to him ripping his robotic body apart. But that was quite not the right time and place for something like this.

Hastily, he tried to remember the sessions with Dr. Piers. Skills. What he needed now were these skills he had trained. Too bad he was out of shape. It had been too long since the last time he had a talk with a therapist. Almost five weeks? When was the last time someone had given him a hug?

No time for a breakdown right now!

Springtrap hit himself. Just to come out of this downward spiral.

“Is everything alright?” asked one of the soldiers.

“Eh, ancient reflex. Stupid flies.” was Springtrap's answer.

Great.  
Now he was back at lying about his mental state.

“Okay. No. No, it's not alright. I'm... I'm kinda stressed right now.”

“Understandable.” responded the soldier “You are not trained. At all. It's a surprise that the two of you made it that long.”

“It's not exactly the current situation, more like... I'm not really healthy. Okay, I know that's weird to say for a ghost in a robot suit, but I... I think I need to call someone when we are back at the base.”

“Aren't you supposed to keep secrecy up?”

“Yeah but let's face it: Everyone who didn't spend the last year in a hole knows who I am.”

“You are the ghost bunny.” said the child suddenly “People talked about you. Before the other things came.”

“Ugh, yeah... ghost... kinda like that.”

“Are the other things dead people too?”

“No. They are just machines.”  
“But you are a ghost?”

“I am.”

“What's that like? You died, right? How?”

“That's... nothing I would tell a kid.”

“Why? I've seen how the robots ripped people into pieces. My dad always said that robots are evil, but I didn't think that they would kill us all. Does it hurt to be dead?”

“Uh, sometimes. But to die hurts really really bad.”

“I know. People scream. Are you hungry?”

“No. Never.”

The boy stayed quiet for some seconds, thinking.

“Then you're lucky. I don't like to be hungry.”

“Say, weren't you afraid like, some minutes ago? And now you're gushy.”

He shrugged.

“That woman in the black suit was like my mom. When she's not drunk, anyway. But you are nice. My brother says you are the nice people. Making the robots go away. I hope you will make this glowy thing go away too. My dad always stares at it. Mom even punched him in the face, but he didn't come home. Usually he does when he's drunk and she hits him. And now, mom doesn't come home, too. All stand there and stare at this thing. It's creepy.”

Springtrap actively tried to force all his revolting thoughts and feelings to leave him be. At least for a while.

“Uh, okay. Tell me something about this... glowy thing.”

“Is not much to say. It's strange. I think... I think it gets bigger when more people stand around it and stare at it.”

“Do they... do something with it?”

“Staring. Sometimes they walk around it, and say something. I don't know.”

“And that's all?”

“Yeah.”

“Is it... just... just your parents who stand there?”

The boy didn't answer, but stopped. He cautiously looked around a corner.

“No.” he finally said “Seems like there's more than since I left.”

Springtrap went around the corner to take a look.

What he saw was indeed strange and creepy.  
On what appeared to be a roofed backyard between a couple of shacks, a large group of people stood, blocking the view at the center. Still, the whole place was lighted by an eerie, pale blue shine. Not quite like the blue metal's usual glowing, but darker. Teal.

The peacemakers started their investigation. Taking photos, trying to talk to the people. But no feedback. Only turning them around produced some sort of reaction, but as soon as they restored the line of sight with the center, they became numb again. Which was odd, since with all the people, they clearly couldn't see the source of the glow, and yet...

Then, the crowd started to move. Walking around the center, in a perfect circle, without stumbling or running into each other. And all that with their view glued at the invisible point in the middle.  
A whole circle, and then they all stopped at the same time, each person standing at exactly the same position as before.

“Ooookay, that is really creepy and unnerving.” commented Springtrap.

“I didn't understand anything of what they said.” wondered one peacemaker.

“Huh, they talked?”

“Yes. You didn't hear it?”

“Nope. Not a sound. Just their feet on the ground.”

“Strange. They... they clearly said something. But it... it didn't reach my brain? Just my ears.”

“Same here.” agreed an other soldier “Noise, but no information.”

“Hm... so it's only mortals who can hear this? That's... that's new. Usually it's the other way around... I am supposed to hear and see more than you guys...”

“I swear they talked.”

“Yeah yeah, I believe you. I hope you put this on video?”

“Of course.”

“Good. Something for us to look at later. Now, I really want to know what the hell they stare at.”

That said, Springtrap and the peacemakers made their way towards the center. While they didn't intent to upset the people, they had to shove some away. Which didn't seem to bother them, as long as they could continue their staring.

Finally, Springtrap could see for himself.

The boy's somewhat poor description turned out to be quite fitting. Not much to speak of. A lump of metal, blackish. Odd edges, sometimes sharp like a razor, at other places battered, as if someone just recently had hit the surface. The glow was indeed different from Fazaka's usual gear, the carvings even more random. Again, the peacemakers took pictures, while Springtrap slowly walked around the narrow piece of glowing metal, trying to figure out what it could be. It had no shape, no obvious function. But then again, everything Fazaka had built out of the blue metal lacked any concept.

“Okay... Okay, I'll touch it now.” said Springtrap.

He cautiously lowered his hand, until his fingertips made contact with the uneven surface.

The reaction was not really what he had expected.  
Instead of turning purple, the substance simply... crumpled into dust. Black dust, that didn't last long enough to even reach the ground.  
As soon as the glow was gone, the people standing around seemed to regain consciousness.

 

The peacemakers meticulously recorded everything the people had to say. It was impressive how four armed soldiers were able to keep a crowd of thirty or more confused people calm enough to ask them questions. But ultimately, nobody really had a clue what happened here. Some had been here for days, without drinking or eating, and still they were not hungry. Almost as if the time they had spend in trance simply was cut out of their lives. With no remaining hint. It took almost an hour to gather all reports, and even then the peacemakers decided to declare the place restricted area for further investigation.

Springtrap however wasn't able to find any sort of hint. Nothing of the object that had enthralled the people was left, and despite searching the place for even the tiniest turbulence, nothing revealed anything.

The sole evidence that something was out of the ordinary was the Veil: It was extremely thin here. On their quest to offer the lost ones a way into the Fading Rooms, Springtrap and Lance had often been at locations where the Veil had thinned out because of the memories that connected the living world with the other side. But not a single of these places could be compared to this. Thin as a sheet of paper. In fact, he felt as if the Rooms were just a single step away. And that was not exactly calming his nerves. He only dared to guess that whatever it had been that hold the people here in trance also affected the Veil. Somehow.

Two of the peacemakers decided to stay at the place, until the forensic specialists of the Agency arrived.

Springtrap and the remaining two made their way back to the mobile base. Which was easier said than done. With the maze of slums spreading out in every direction, it didn't take long for them to get lost. The build-in maps of their HUDs were not really helpful either, since the layout of the slums changed on a daily basis. More than once they ended up in a dead end, and had to walk a long way back.  
That changed once they arrived at a broader road, probably some kind of main street, should something like this exist in a shanty town.

“Ugh, finally something that isn't a walkway between huts that look like they could collapse any moment.” mumbled Springtrap angrily.

As happy he was that he managed to prevent his almost-breakdown, he knew that it sooner or later would come back. With friends. And he didn't look forward to this. Not this far away from anything resembling a psychiatric clinic. In a particular cynical moment, he mocked himself for being so dependent on other peoples' help.

He was abruptly yanked out of his brooding by a peacemaker grabbing his shoulder to stop him.

Springtrap turned half around to ask, but he managed to got the idea.

A bunch of people blocked the road in front of them. Which was odd enough, given the fact that the inhabitants of the slum tried their best to stay invisible around official looking people like the peacemakers. Unfortunately, these here people were armed. And their guns and riffles were pointed directly at Springtrap and his two companions.

“Hand over the rabbit!” shouted one of the rioters.

“Excuse me, I'm a _bunny_!” responded Springtrap automatically.

“Don't care what ya are, military pays good money for ya head.”

“Uh, no offense, but what would they want to do with a robot's head?”

“Don't be a wise-ass. Hey, pissmakers. Put ya weapons to the ground and back off. We're after that freak, not after ya. But ain't not afraid to kill ya.”

Before either Springtrap or the peacemakers could answer, someone jumped out of a shady corner at their right side, and rammed something straight into Springtrap's arm.

“Know ma way 'round a robot.” babbled the man with a sly grin.

But whatever he had in his mind, it didn't seem to turn out like he wanted.

“Thanks for the additional electricity, but if you want to hurt me you should get something stronger than just a meek little taser.”

The guy wasn't really happy about this. He simply punched Springtrap into the face. Which, in turn, broke his knuckles.  
A peacemaker knocked the hilt of his riffle on the rebel's head, but that wasn't enough to take him down.

Gunfight erupted.

The only available cover were some old crates, which probably wouldn't last that long. Both peacemakers tried their best to shoot at the rebels, but they were simply outnumbered.

“Fuck!” cursed Springtrap “Why now?!”

“Just zap them!” snarled one of the soldiers.

“I'm _not killing_ people!”

“Then we will get killed instead. I called for help but we won't- shit!”

One of the crates broke down in a rain of splinters.

That all was faster than Springtrap could think. He didn't expect to fight against humans. Right now, he felt extremely stupid for not thinking about this possibility. It was war. The robots were just one of the fighting parties. Of course they sooner or later had to face the rebels or military. Like, right now.

But what to do?

He could not... he simply could not kill a human. Not after all this pain he already had caused. All this work put into moving himself away from the idea that he had been a murderer. But it was war. Could one count this as murder? He was literally showered in bullets right now. Next to him two soldiers. Who had families. A future. But then again, those rebels also had a life to lose.

What to do?

Springtrap left cover.

Holding his hands up, he ignored the projectiles ricocheting from his frame, and walked towards the rebels.

Most stopped their fighting, but stayed alert.

“Keep shootin' at the pissers! But leave the rabbit alone. Clever rabbit.” said the leader of the gang.

The peacemakers continued their assault, trying to take at least some rebels down.

“I know, right?” shouted Springtrap “I'm super smart. Being such a genius that I got myself killed, but couldn't die the right and proper way. Funny, huh?”

“Shut ya mouth and come over here.”

“Oh no, I'm not shutting my mouth. In fact. You will listen. Listen to me. Hear me. Listen to me. Hear my voice. You hear me. My voice. Right now, listen to my voice. Just to my voice. Listen. Listen to me. Hear my voice. My voice. I am the voice of your exhaustion. The voice of your hunger and pain. Listen to my voice. The voice of your dreamless nights. I am the voice that calls you back to sleep. I am the voice of your tired limbs. The voice of your hunger and pain. Listen to my voice. My voice. The voices that calls you. Calls you back to sleep. Hear the voice of your tired heart. Listen. Listen to the voice begging you to sleep. Sleep. The voice of sleep. Sleep. Listen. Listen to the voice that commands you. Sleep. Listen. Sleep. Sleep now. Sleep. Sleep. Now.”

Springtrap lowered his arms again.

He was quite satisfied with himself.  
The whole gang – sleeping on the ground. They had dropped their guns, some had tried to struggle, or even get away from him and his sorcery. But no use. Ultimately, they all had to surrender to the commanding nature of an undead's voice.  
Springtrap grabbed a handful of the glittering dust that filled the air, looked closely at it, before blowing it away.

“Hehe... g'night fuckers. Sleepsand plus Voice. Yeah! Who's the better sorcerer now, Lancy-Pancy, huh?! Oh shit the peacemakers!”

He hurried back to the cover, and found the two soldiers asleep as well. A quick check revealed that they were unharmed.

“Phew. Fortune favors fools.”

Springtrap sat down next to his colleagues, and tried to calm down again.

Still happy that his sudden idea hadn't ended in a disaster, his view wandered over the sleeping humans. Sleepsand alone was a rather tricky, but ultimately useful sorcery. But combined with the Voice... these people would probably sleep some twenty hours. Some others would probably take advantage of this and steal the weapons or maybe even the clothes. But Springtrap wasn't exactly worried about them. No, in fact, he tried to figure out how to get the two sleeping peacemakers back to the base.

However.

Before he could think of something, he heard a high pitched, piercing sound.

He looked up into the sky.

Planes.

Dropping bombs.

The first detonations.

The reaction came promptly.

Heavy weapons, all over the place, starting to fire at the military bombers. Some came down.

But more bombs dropped.

A particularly large plane flew straight over his head.

“Oh shit. Oh shit ohshit ohshit.” was all he could say.

Because he just realized that the huge bomber made its way towards the place where the agency truck was supposed to be.

Of course.

Just a matter of time until the army found them. And how convenient! A rebel stronghold _and_ the pestering task force – two birds with one stone.

The large explosives dropped.

That would hurt. So much he knew.

Right there, out of the thin air, a dome appeared. Made of orange light. The first bomb hit it, went off, and the shockwave was enough to hit the ones still falling.

While the plane wasn't caught by the backlash, at least the truck was safe.

“Okay, Lance, you are the better sorcerer.” said Springtrap humbly.

Then he got off the ground, readying the focusing device in his arm.

“But don't mind if I try to make up for it.”

And he aimed at the big bomber.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**27.11.2020 – The first tear** (Project Gaia 3)

 

 

“Fucking shit that's not going to work!”

“Ya don't say!”

“Why's there so many?!”

“Just take em down Springles.”

“Easy for you to say Mister Fireball!”

Despite his annoyance, Springtrap was rather good at keeping the animatronics at bay. His lightnings were purple now – a small hint at the fact that they were sorcery, not concerned about anything related to physics. They graciously made their way through the ongoing battle, hitting groups of enemy robots, sparing the Agency's droids. While they still created static strong enough to disable these, the humans around were safe. From the blasts, at least.

An sheer unending number of animatronics branded against the makeshift fortifications the peacemakers had erected. Sometimes it seemed that Lance's barriers were the sole thing that kept them away from the task-force. And maybe they were. Even with the steadily advancing state of the Agency's equipment, Springtrap and Lance were still the major driving force of this operation. Where peacemakers and agents took down five bots, Lance destroyed twenty. But still, their number refused to go down.

The place was Crooksville, Ohio. Not much to speak of. A small town like many others. But for some reason, the Fazaka presence here was extraordinary strong. Disabled bots littered the road in front of the barricades, the pushing robots literally walked over their downed comrades to get to the enemy. So far, without coming anywhere near. Still, everyone was tense. Reports from this area had been sparse at best, and had definitely not been enough to prepare the task force for a battle like this one. Not a single inch had been gained since the initial attack.

“It's no use!” shouted Springtrap to be heard over the gunfire “Can't keep on like this!”

“Heh, gettin' tired, Bunny?” teased Lance, while setting an other group of animatronics ablaze.

“I'm more worried about _you_.”

“Aww come one, I blacked out just _once_ , and now ya gonna tell me all the- oh shit!”

Lance hastily called up a barrier to push away some Balloon Boys sneaking around the barricades. The force wave of the collapsing Aegis ripped apart some of the outer fortifications. Peacemakers and droids had to retreat.

“Happens when you don't focus enough.” grumbled Springtrap as they both hurried behind the second ring.

“Yeah yeah I'm sorry. It's not that-”

“Retreat!” announced the peacemaker sergeant through the speakers “Moving out of the webworks. Undead at the end, keep things controllable.”

“That's what I thought.” commented Lance the announcement, and cast a wide, but short Aegis, so the peacemakers could leave their covers and move back to their cars.

Engines started, and the heavy vehicles turned around, quickly leaving the area, to meet up with the remaining troops and the Agency truck.

The two specters followed them, making sure that no animatronic – especially the fast running Foxy – could pursue.

It took them a while to finally meet up with their comrades again. And these had been busy as well. Peacemaker vehicles had formed a ring around the truck, all weapons were readied, and just now, a new ring of barricades got erected. While originally thought to be just an idea of the overly cautious sergeant, it was now the time for this 'fortress mode' to shine.  
Lance and Springtrap hurried to get inside, before the last gaps of the fortification were closed.

As usual, sergeant Banda examined them closely.

“Any damage?” he asked.

“Almost out of arrows.” responded Lance “Beside this...”

“He's exhausted.” said Springtrap.

“Hey, that's-”

“Come on. For the last hour, you didn't hit a single animatronic. Aimlessly shooting at the ground in the hopes that the banefire explosion will set enough of them on fire.”

Lance sighed. And took his mask off.

“Yeah okay. I'm really wasted. Weird that ya can tell this so easily.”

The sergeant nodded, and looked at Springtrap.

“And you?”

“Okay-ish. My lightnings may have turned into something close to sorcery, but it's still not straining me too much. Am more angry that we wasted time.”

Again, the peacemaker nodded.  
He was a strange person. Rather strict and problem-centered, but at the same time alert and mindful. Sure, undead and sorcery and rampaging robots hadn't been part of his training, but still he had been able to adapt quickly to this situation, playing the cards he had well and thoughtfully.

“We are outside of the webworks' range.” said Kitty “That should keep us safe enough to think about our next step.”

“It's not an ordinary hive.” announced Springtrap.

“So? And what else?”

“I would dare to say... we've poked into a production center.”

People remained silent for a moment.

“Are you sure?” asked Kitty, her voice rather tense.

“No. But this fight was quite similar to Rochester. Nothing compared to the other hives we had so far. An endless stream of robots. More importantly: Robots of all types. We had no Balloon Boys in the hives. This here is more tactical. Broader troops, almost infinite supply. Would fit quite nicely for a production plant.”

“When you put it that way...”

“Ugh! You guys relay far too much on us.” said Springtrap “I mean, I'm a psychopathic child-molester, and-”

“I'm a brute who throws fireballs.” added Lance.

Kitty didn't agree. She crossed her arms.

“Do you want to imply that we would be useless without you?”

“Yes.” responded Springtrap, firmly looking into her eyes.

“In that case, I can only absolutely agree with you.”

“What?”

“Don't be surprised. I am in no way happy about the current situation. Nobody is. Believe it or not, everyone here is perfectly well aware that we don't have anything to handle this on our own. The only logical solution would be to create more undead. Nobody wants this, right?”

“Right.”

“See. So we have to make it work with you two. Does this put us in a horribly tight dependence? Yes. Do we have any other choice? Not really.”

“I'm... I'm sorry.” mumbled Springtrap “Just... it's just that I am really unhappy. Wish I could do more.”

“I know. We all wish we could do more. Us mortals probably even more than you two. I dare to say that every single of us goes to bed brooding about this.”

Kitty looked around. Some people nodded slightly, but most didn't react at all.

“Let's maybe focus on the actual problem.” suggested the sergeant “Hives I can handle by now, but I have zero idea about an actual production plant.”

“Easy said: Thousands of robots, in a deep, complex underground fortress. It will spit out more and more and more, probably turning everything in reach into raw material to make more bots.”

“And we can't go the usual way because?”

“The specter powers the robots.” explained Kitty “By now we know that the webworks are not only an extension of the specter's will, they also somehow infuses them with electricity. However, an actual fabrication center also employs robots fitted with a battery. These can move outside of the webworks' range. While they are not that smart when they are alone, they still can hurt really bad.”

“Understood.”

“We won't be able to get near to any access point. The sheer number of robots will bring us down sooner or later. I estimate that a factory is far more complex than a hive, so Bunny would need... at least five hours to corrupt the webworks. Bucky would not be able to keep us safe for such a long time. I hate to say this, but we are too few to take down a factory.”

Sergeant Banda nodded.

“And we are too close to the front. I won't dare to call more troops here. It's a miracle that we so far only had to deal with the military once.”

“So... we're goin' to retreat? That sucks.”

“We can't put too much strain on you, Bucky.” said Kitty “After what happened the last time...”

“Hey. Hey, c'mon. How long will you guys bug me with that? I blacked out cause there was a fuckin' bomb thrown down at us and I had to cast a full fuckin' Aegis dome. I'm sorry, really!”

But Kitty shook her head.

“That was not an insult. Not even close. But you are – despite everything – still a person. Maybe not a mortal one, but we can't... no, we _must_ not risk your health. It is bad enough that we only have you two, but if anything happens to you, we would have to cancel this whole operation.”

“It's a fuckin' _war_.”

“Forgive me for sounding haughty now, but I am an expert with war.” interjected the sergeant “And one of the most basic rules in war is: stay alive. Our goal here may be to weaken the enemy by destroying its infrastructure, but still, we need to care for each other, and ourselves. Nobody else will do that. So, agent Kitty is right. Risking you or Bunny in a headless attempt to turn this factory down is nothing we will do.”

“But... but people die...”

“Yes. That happens when there is war. It is our duty to make sure that there is a future, at all. If we lose you, we will lose our most promising hope to reach this future. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You are not under my command, agent.” and the black man glanced over at Kitty “In fact, if I was in charge here, many things would probably be different. And much worse. So, good thing that I am not the boss here.”

“I take that as a compliment.” responded Kitty with a halfhearted smile “But you are right. This is more resistance than we can handle. We are not an army. We are specialists, closely aimed at a specific task. If we cannot get this done here, then we simply move to the next location.”

“I don't like that.”

“Nobody does, Bucky. But we have to move on.”

“Hey, wait a second.” threw Springtrap in.

He had been quiet for some minutes, but now he seemed to have something on his mind. He turned around.

“Doctor Durov? Could you please come over here?”

The tall woman practically jumped up from her seat in front of the webworks-monitor, and quickly made her way to the tactics table.

“Yes?”

“Hey, just a quick question: You think we could reproduce a transmitter?”

She thought about this, shoving her glasses higher up her nose.

“Is possible.” the doctor said “We have tiny Bunny. Much work, and no guarantee. But yes, is possible.”

“Uh, what exactly is your idea, Bunny?” asked Kitty.

“Well. See. So far we only used our magical device back there to turn the webworks purple. But since it is a slightly modified copy of the webworks-server we found in Rochester, it could, in theory, be used to host a webworks of our own making. I am able to corrupt Fazaka bots so they work for me. But since... hm, how to put this? I'm not a machine. There is much more in my mind than there should be, so I don't... have... that much room in my head to host a big hive. In Rochester, it was a dozen robots, and that was... not enjoyable, but didn't overwhelm me. When I could transfer some of the calculating to a webworks, I should technically be able to run a robot army all by myself.”

“And that is safe?”

“I don't know. I probably have to... split my mind. But that's something I would at least be willing to try. If we're going to break into that factory, we need an army. Either humans, or, and that is much more preferable, robots.”

“To sum it up, you want to turn yourself into a hive-mind and fight the enemy using their own weapons.”

“Yes, that.”

Kitty looked down at the map on the table, then her view wandered over to the dark, oddly shaped hunk of metal that was the webworks device.

“This sounds risky.”

“For me, maybe. But look, we will need a day or two to find a new hive to fight, why not use this time to try something new? In fact, that is one of the reason we hunted for the Plushtrap, right?”

“And you are sure that this... will not damage you?”

Springtrap shrugged.

“I'm used to be broken, not a big deal.”

“Rejected. We will move.”

“Hey, that was not.. I didn't mean it that way. Come one Kitty, we need to try this sooner or later, why not now?”

She started to rub her temples. Walking around a little, thinking.

“In any case, we can't stay this close.” she said more to herself “So it will be retreat, no matter what. Question is, should we try to turn the robots into our tools, or should we wait for things to calm down enough so the peacemakers can move a significant number of soldiers here to tackle the factory? We don't know how long this might take, and every day this facility stays online, a new specter, a new hive could be made. I think I am willing to try this. Who knows, maybe we find a way to construct something that affects all webworks.”

“Is that a yes?”

“It's a firm we-have-nothing-to-lose.”

“Eh, close enough.”

Kitty returned to the table.

“Okay. We try this. Bunny and our scientists will start to work on the transmitter. The tacticians and I will try to find a location that is better defensible, but not too far away, so we still might catch some robots. Everyone else will get us ready to move, as soon as we find a place suiting our current needs. Any objections?”

“What exactly are you looking for?” asked sergeant Banda.

“Something shielded from direct sight. We know that the robots are dumb once they leave the webworks, but I don't want to risk that a stray shoot hits us.”

“There's a couple remote homesteads all over the area. Sometimes it's just two or three houses. Could be enough to offer us some protection, while keeping uninteresting enough for both the robots and the military.”

“We'll look for something.” stated Kitty, then her view went back to Springtrap and the Russian doctor “And you start to think about what exactly you can do. Bucky will get some rest. Everyone else got their orders. Let's start.”

 

 

“Shouldn't ya work on the transmitter?”

“I'm doing this right now.”

“Ah, sure. Runnin' around on a abandoned farm helps with buildin' techy shit?”

“Well, and shouldn't _you_ be in bed and sleep?”

Lance looked away.

“I tried. Too much goin' on in my head. Need some fresh air...”

“Same. And also I search the area for a good spot to place the transmitter. I think we'll put it on that windmill-thing there.”

“Windmillthin'. Springles. Really?”

“Lance, I never, ever, left Boston my whole life. I only know what a cow looks like because we had pizza with beef and there was a picture of a cow on the menu right next to it.”

“Bro, what did ya eat?!”

“Pizza.”

“But whe-”

“Pizza.”

“And befor-”

“Bread.”

Lance stared at him.

“How the heck did ya get twenty years old?!”

“By eating pizza. And now, Mister Agriculture, care to tell me what this is if not a windmill?”

“Bro, it's a fuckin' turbine. Like, it makes power.”

“Ah.”

“Ya surely had those in the eighties?!”

“Well, not on the five square kilometers I spend my life at.”

“ _Bro_.”

“I love being on duty with you two.” commented one of the peacemakers “Your shenanigans remind my of me and my best friend.”

“Hm, could be that.” answered Lance, giving Springtrap an ominous look.

“I wouldn't know. Never had a friend before.” was Springtrap's respond.

“Seems ya have now, so get used to it, bro.”

“Thank you.”

“Ya welcome. Now, what are we 'sposed to do here?”

“Check the place for any... unforeseen variables.”

“Uh...?”

“Robots, survivors, salvageable stuff. We're not supposed to loot anything, but leftover things from the war are free to take.”

“Okay. And I wasn't allowed to do this on my own because...?”

“You are still wearing the communication jammer, and should something happen to you or us... well. That's why.”

“Meh. Kay. That's almost a reason.”

The place was devoid of human life. Like most rural areas that had the bad luck to be target for a hive, it had been abandoned. Fighting an army of robots was hopeless. Even with many Americans owning guns, this had turned into a massacre almost instantly. Survivors of the initial attack had fled either to the west coast or Canada. These, at least, had had some luck. People turning towards the other direction however got caught up in the ongoing fights between rebels and army. It was unlikely that those people would return. Ever.

The plot was rather large. Not quite an industrial farm, more like a family business run by a couple of people. Some barns, probably for livestock that had run away a month ago. Tools were scattered all over the place, maybe someone had searched the area. Or people had been hit by surprise.

The peacemakers placed an official note at the door, stating that they entered the property in search for survivors. They also left a contact form, so the owners – should they ever come back – could ask about the state of the building at the time of the peacemaker's visit.

Bad. The front door had been kicked in, several windows were smashed, and the interior was littered with dry leaves blown in by the autumn wind. The content of drawers and cupboards had been carelessly thrown at the ground by whoever looter had looked inside this house. At least there were no corpses. Neither blood. The original inhabitants probably had made it out before the robots had reached the remote areas around the town. Good for them.

“Nothing to report, sir.” said one of the two woman who had searched the house.

“Good. Let's hope that the people who lived here reached a safe place.” and the commanding officer looked at Springtrap “Any sights of eldritch activity?”

“Nope. No ghosts. The Veil is like it could be expected from a family home.”

The officer nodded.

“We'll head to the barns then.”

And there, they had to correct their first assumption.  
A dozen of disabled robots were lying around, clearly damaged by bullets. And a chainsaw.  
It was only Foxys, probably because these were the fastest. This lucky coincidence was what had allowed the farmers to flee this place alive. The odds to take a full squad of Freddys down in melee was rather low.

A quick search revealed nothing of interest. The bots would get their blue metal chip removed, but beside that, the first two barns didn't contain anything out of the ordinary.

The third building was a little bit further away. Even from the distance it was clear that most of the fight had taken place around this particular barn.

“Awesome that a bunch of veggie pluckers got the upper hand here.” commented Lance the sight “I mean, what had they at hands? Some shotguns maybe. A chainsaw. That's all. And still- aw shit. I take it back. There's a corpse.” he stopped “Uh... the... lower half of a corpse... Eww.”

“Hm, feast for the crows.” mused the peacemaker officer, kneeling down to closely observe the rotten body parts.

Most of the flesh had been eaten away by animals, only the boots and shreds of a pair of jeans identified these remains as a human's legs and hips. It was not exactly clear what had happened here, since, beside this half of a corpse, no other evidence was around.

“My guess would be that the chainsaw tactics worked for the robots as well. That's a rather straight cut. Could be the result of a grenade, too, but that's hard to say at this state of decay.”

“Ya are rather good with dead meat, arn'tcha?”

The peacemaker tipped his helmet.

“Philippe Cardillac, doctor of medicine and forensic specialist, at your service.”

“Uh... sorry.”

“Don't be. Most of us are specialized in something that could be useful here. The Agency is not the only one who wants this solved. Now, I'd suggest we throw a look inside this barn. Hopefully we find the rest of this poor fellow.”

The inside, too, looked very much like the scene of a heavy fight. Parts of the painted wood were singed, animatronics in different states of destruction littered the floor.

“Odd. There should be at least some... sort of track that leads from the body outside to the rest.”

“It's been a month.” responded Springtrap “And it's autumn. The blood probably dried up and washed away. Or simply rot.”

“I am not only talking about blood. Do you think the torso just crawled away happily? It's not that common that parts of a body are that far away from each other.”

Before Springtrap could say something in return, his bunny ears perked up.

“Huh? Did you hear that?”

“What?”

“Shh!” he listened to whatever his advanced sensors were picking up “Someone's in there and calling us! Probably survivors, go go go!”

The five people ran after Springtrap, deeper inside the barn.

They soon were greeted by a horrid stench of rot, as well as a weak voice calling for help.  
Inside a tool shed, they finally meet up with whoever had been calling.

Springtrap was the first one entering the tight place. He saw two defeated animatronics, lying at the ground. Next to them a chainsaw. The place was cramped, he had to press himself against the wall to get around the two robots.

In the weak shine of the peacemakers' flash lights, he could see a human body.

“Oh thanks god finally someone is coming!” said a gentle, masculine voice “Did my girlfriend send you? Did they make it out of here? Who are you?”

Springtrap needed a second to recover from his surprise.  
The body that was lying there definitely didn't look like it should be alive. What little Springtrap could see in the dim light looked quite like... a corpse.

“Uhm, we are peacemakers.” he answered slowly “We're looking for survivors. Can you identify yourself?”

“Yes, sure. I'm Mark Schwartzstein.”

“Are you... are you alright?”

“I don't know. It is hard to breath. And I think my legs have gone dead with the robots lying on top of them.”

“Uuuh... are you... how exactly did you end up here?”

“I heard about the robots emerging from the ground, so I came here to see if my girlfriend and her family are alright. Told her to take the car. Me and her brothers tried to shut these robots down, and... and then it's kinda blurry. I think one of them hit me in the head. Maybe I blacked out? I don't know. I woke up in here, with them lying on me. Surely she contacted you, right? Did they make it? Please, tell me that they made it out unharmed.”

“I... we were send by the Global Council, so I didn't meet your... fiance. But if it helps, we searched the place and found no blood our so.”

“Thank god! I was so afraid you guys would drop us after that bastard of a president wanted to leave the Council. How's the town?”

“Well... hey, how long... how long do you think you have been here?”

“Some hours probably. I blacked out, as I said. It's... it's a little hard to track time when it's all dark.”

Springtrap looked back to his comrades. He wasn't sure what to do now. What to think.

“Erm... we're going to get you out of here, but first... we... we'd like to check the area, so we won't run into left over robots.”

“Sounds fair, I'm fine here. Just... don't take too long, okay?”

“Promise.”

And Springtrap made his way out of the narrow shed. He waved for the others to follow him. Of course they had heard the talk, and were curious now.

“We should not waste any time, maybe he's hurt.” said officer Cardillac.

“He is dead.” answered Springtrap.

People looked at him as if he had lost his mind.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. He's dead. The legs we found outside are his. And he's been in here since the first attack.”

“I... I do not understand.”

“Me neither.” said Springtap in return, he looked worried, but also confused.

“Is he... is he undead?” asked Lance.

“I think so.”

“But... but how?”

“That is the big question here. He definitely is not a specter. That much I can tell. But face it: laying around on the ground, in the cold, without water or food, the lower part of his body missing... for a whole _month_? Any other ideas what could have caused this?”

People remained silent.  
Springtrap started to rub his temples.

“Gosh that's not really how it should be. How the hell could he turn undead? That's probably the greatest secret of our species! Even undead themselves forget the techniques behind turning someone. And this poor fool managed to skip death... just... just by accident? Oh my fucking hell how much I would like to take a headache killer now.”

“Maybe leave the questions for later?” suggested Lance “First we should... get him ready to face the truth.”

“Okay, but what are we going to tell him? 'Hey Mark, the Grimm Reaper was busy, and since you missed your ride you're now stuck here forever, rotting away. Oh, and by the way, your legs are missing.'”

“Probably. Are ya doin' this or should I?”

Springtrap sighed.

“Next time we talk with High Command, I'll demand a raise.”

“So ya up to it?”

“Seems so. But first... hey, could two of you guys get... a stretcher here? A wheelchair, maybe? And something to... cover the stench? Heck, how are we even... Lance. Lance, you're going to the Rooms. Now. Search the Elder. If anyone could tell us what to do with a... a freshly awakened undead, than it's her.”

“Roger.” said the other, then he simply dropped to the ground, the lights of his eyes went dim.

“You heard the man. Get us that wheelchair.” ordered the peacemaker officer.

Springtrap tried to ready himself for what would come now. He had not really an idea how to put this whole mess into words. Still thinking, he made his way back to the tool shed, and shoved himself inside.

“Oh good you're back!” greeted him the young man “Is it safe outside?”

“Yes. But...”

“But what?”

“Well. There is something I need to tell you, first. You need to... listen to me. Please stay calm. Try to focus on what I have to say. This will maybe... no, this will absolutely be a huge shock for you.”

“Oh... oh god. Please don't tell me that Clara is... please, not her!”

“No no, we don't know about her. She probably is safe. Hear me out, stay calm please. You should... you should be concerned about yourself right now.”

“Why?” Mark asked, his voice still shaking “I'm fine. Get this tin cans off me and I'm good to go. Really, I just want to get to my girlfriend.”

Springtrap sighed.

“Well. See... today is... the twenty-seventh of November. The initial attack of the robots happened a month ago.”

“What...? But-”

“You're dead, Mark. You died a month ago. One of the robots... cut you into half. Please try to stay calm.”

“You lost your mind, right? Is this a joke? Is this all some sort of hidden-camera show? Am I the fool here?”

“No. Please try to stay focused.”

“How?! You tell me that I... I am dead?”

Springtrap turned on his flash light.  
For the first time he actually was able to see what was left of Mark Schwartzstein. It was, in every sense, a corpse. Tainted shirt, greenish gray skin, the moldy flesh bloated with foul fluids. Springtrap had to choke two times before he could say something.

“Just... just take a look at your hands.” he recommended.

Mark did that. Slowly lifting his arms. His decaying face showed pure horror as he turned his hands around in front of his eyes.

“What... what... what the... oh... oh my god. Oh my GOD!”

“It's no use to freak out. Believe me, I know how you feel right now.”

“I'm a zombie! A corpse! I'm-I-I am dead! Oh my god!”

“I know.”

“That that can't be! I'm dreaming right? They hit me at the head and- oh shit I should have thrown the beef away! It turned just yesterday, I thought I oh my fucking god!”

“No, you are not dreaming.”

“Please make it stop!”

“I can't.”

Mark pressed his hands against his head, and stayed silent for some moments.  
Springtrap thought about leaving him alone. But he remembered. When he woke up the first time after his death, he had been through this horror as well. He had been all alone back then. Mark should not have to endure this.

It took the young undead some minutes to regain enough focus to speak again. He was in shock. And maybe that was the reason that he was oddly calm now.

“Excuse the swears... November you said?”

“I'm afraid so, yes.”

“Gosh... I've been lying here... for five weeks... how could I think of this as a single day?”

“That's common for a fresh undead. Time is not important when you have no needs to care for.”

“You... you sound like you... know?”

Springtrap turned the flash light around to light up his own face.

“You probably have heard of me.” he said.

“Oh my... oh my god. The ghost bunny!”

“Yeah. Right that one. I'm undead, too. So I know quite well what's going on in your head right now.”

“Oh dear. I'm sorry for you.”

Springtrap rolled his eyes.

“Buddy, you're a rotting piece of meat, you've been cut into half, you have no business being sorry for anyone else, especially not for me.”

“... cut into half?”

Again, Springtrap sighed.

“Yes. Your legs lie outside the barn.”

“Oh. That's why I don't feel them. I... shouldn't they be... uh, undead as well?”

“Not when they got cut off before you died. Which... probably is what happened. Hey, listen, I have zero experience with a body. Mine got crushed thirty years ago and I am some... some special type of undead that doesn't need a body. So I can't tell you anything about this, at all.”

“I see...”

“You are too calm about this.”

“Maybe. I think parts of my mind shut down. A typical shock reaction. I'm a nurse in training, you know? Well, I was.”

“A nurse, huh?”

“Yes. We... I wanted to leave. I tried to convince Clara to come with me. Well. I guess that this is... not what I am supposed to worry about right now, hm?”

“Not really, no. But maybe it helps to let your mind stray a little.”

Someone tapped at Springtrap's back.

“Hey, we have the wheelchair here...”

“Good. Okay Mark, we will get you out there now.”

It took some effort to lift the two robots, and take them out of the tiny room. Once Mark had free sight at his body, he curiously observed his entrails lying on the ground.

“That is creepy.” he commented “I thought it was the fur that tickled me. But no... maggots. Uh... what... what am I supposed to do about this? Will this... heal?”

“No. You're a corpse. It will only rot further.”

“Greeeat. Just what I wanted. Can you tug it out?”

“No again. It might be dead but it's still you. And as long as you don't want to be cut into even more pieces... uh... I'm sorry.”

“Don't be. Actually, this all is kinda hilarious. I wish my trainer could see me like this.”

“Clearly in shock.” commented the pacemaker officer.

“Totally.” agreed Mark “I hope this lasts long enough for you to fix me up.”

“We'll see about that. I think we should... at least... wrap something around your... the cut.”

“Yeah, just stuff it all back in. Has no use any more.”

Springtrap was rather happy that he had an actual doctor at his side. That way, at least someone was able to keep a cool head while tending to a literal animated corpse. Cardillac tightly wrapped some plastic around the cut off torso. Luckily, the two peacemakers had been farsighted enough to bring plenty of wrapping material, so most of the corpse could be safely packed. Some of the horrid fluids dripped out, but better than nothing.

 

 

“I asked you to look for unforeseen variables, and you bring me a twelve chapter horror novel.” said Kitty with visible fright.

“I'd call this unforeseen in all and every way.” answered Springtrap.

Kitty shook her head. Then again. It was odd to see her struggling to keep up the countenance so typical for her.

“Well. Alright. We are equal to the police, so I guess I... better start taking your personal data, Mister...”

“Schwartzstein . Mark Schwartzstein.”

“Right. I need a form. Get me something to write. Thanks. Now. Sit down please.”

“I am sitting.”

“Yes, you are. I am sorry.”

Kitty sighed, she took a deep breath, but regretted this seconds later. Even with them sitting in a tent outside of the truck, the stench of rot was impossible to ignore.

“So, okay. Mark. Schwartzstein. That's German, right?”

“Yeah.”

“S-c-h-w-a-r-z?”

“With T. T-z-s-t-e-i-n.”

“Okay. Date and place of birth?”

“April, seventh, ninety-seven. Ember-Hills-Hospital, Glasgow, Kentucky.”

“Noted. Parents?”

“Mendel and Dorothy Schwartzstein.”

“Where do they live?”

“Nowhere. They're dead.”

“... oh. I'm... I'm sorry.”

“It's okay. They were peacemakers. Tried to evacuate Medina when... well, when Arabia turned into a hole in the ground. I've been with my aunt since then. Heather Pitcher. But she died three years ago as well.”

“My condolence.”

“Thanks. Seems like dying runs in the family.”

Kitty needed a second to get back to the form.

“Okay... okay, so. How exactly... what happened?”

“Uh, I came back from work – I'm a trainee at the Zanesville Public Hospital. Well, I was. However, I was on my way home when I heard about this... invasion? And that Crooksville was in danger, too. So I turned around and tried to get to my girlfriend's place as fast as I could. I really tried to convince them to leave the town, at least for as long the army would need to gain the upper hand. Uh, and I somehow ended up defending their farm together with her two brothers. It's all... a little bit blurry. The robots came, and Steve – the older one – had the chainsaw. Tobias, the younger brother, had a shotgun, and I... I just sprayed water at the machines. Was effective. We were busy some twenty minutes. I guess. There was no robots left, I thought, but one probably got up again. Hit me in the head and... well. When I woke up I was lying in the dark, buried under two bots. Still can't believe that it had been a whole month. It surely doesn't feel that long.”

“Okay, wait, back to the fight. You say that there weren't any animatronics left but still you got knocked out?”

“Yes, that. Really bad.”

Kitty looked up from her writing, then her view wandered over the mutilated corpse in front of her. Finally, she looked at Springtrap sitting next to Mark.

“Tell me a little bit about this... family of your fiance.”

“Uh, why?”

“So that we can find them, maybe.”

“Hm. Well. They are... I wouldn't call them rednecks. They are hard working folk. That farm used to be a wasteland before they moved in. Clara – my girlfriend – is the youngest child. She's my age. Down-to-earth, but kind. Well, compared to the rest of her family, she's kind of a softy.”

“How long have you been with her?”

“Five years. Almost. Knew her from school.”

“And this was alright for her family?”

“Uh, well. They are Christians. I am... uh, my dad was Jewish, my mom atheist, and my aunt one of these new-age-types, and I am, technically Jewish as well, but not really into this whole faith business. Let's say, Clara's parents had not exactly been happy, but hey, it's five years, they got used to me.”

“And... her brothers?”

“Had not much to do with them, really. Steve was... well, how a big brother is, I suppose. Had to earn his trust. I think I won some points because I go everywhere by bicycle.”

Kitty nodded. Her eyes still at Springtrap. Who felt a little bit uncomfortable.

“Okay... back to the day you died. You said the three of you put the robots down.”

“Yes.”

“And there wasn't any around anymore.”

“Well, at least one, I suppose. That one who knocked me out.”

“And obviously took the chainsaw from this Steve and cut you straight into two.”

Mark thought about this for a moment.

“... probably?”

“So, they overwhelmed the two other men. But we didn't find any evidence except your remains. Which were, to be frank, disposed like trash. If these brothers had stayed on the winning side, they could at least have the dignity to bury you.”

“Uh... maybe they had to retreat? If they were overpowered...”

“It is unlikely that anyone would survive such an event, even less so two civilians with no proper equipment or training. Beside this, nothing found at the location speaks for this. I'm augmented, you see? Right now I compare the pictures the peacemakers took of the place to your story. You three managed to disable all robots, but then, suddenly, at least enough recovered to be dangerous, and they took the chainsaw from this Steve-guy, and killed you with it. While the two men somehow made it out alive and ran away.”

“Hey wait.” interjected Springtrap “That's not possible. Fazaka's AI is too dumb to use any tools except those build-in. And, those robots that attacked you were Foxy. They have a hook for a hand. No way one could wield an actual chainsaw.”

“Thank you, agent Bunny. I had this assumption, but you are the expert with Fazaka animatronics.”

Mark's confusion only rose.

“What... what are you trying to tell me? I don't understand...”

“To add to this, knocking someone out is nothing the animatronics would do.” continued Springtrap “They are programmed for mass destruction, tactics are nothing they would employ, even less when they are outside of the webworks. In short: A robot would simply rip you to shreds and move on.”

“I thought so.”

“What you describe is absolutely not fitting.”

The young man didn't say anything in return, but his view jumped from one to the other and back again.

Kitty put the pen down, folding her hands on the table. Her initial confusion had been replaced by something close to cold anger.

“Maybe this family was unhappier with you than they dared to admit.” she said “A war is always a nice way to get rid of someone unwanted, right?”

“But... but... you mean they... but... no. No! That's not...”

“This all felt fishy from the very beginning. How convenient. Some robots attack, and the naive soon-to-be in-law happens to be around. Seriously, if I hadn't heard your version of the story, I would have fallen for this staging and moved on. Fact is, that there was nobody around to knock you out, and butcher you like that, except these two men.”

“Oh my...

“You have been murdered.”

“Hm, maybe that's the reason he turned undead...” wondered Springtrap.

“Is this possible?”

“Should not be. As far as we know, creating an undead needs... a horrendous amount of cryptic stuff. The Veil... reacts on this. Whenever a civilization prospers, the memories they create thin out the Veil. And some day, they will start to tap into the eldritch. If that happens, undead are commonly the result, and the Veil thickens again to make this knowledge disappear again, so not too many undead come to exist. That's the tides. Up and down. But even when the eldritch is accessible, making an undead is... is simply nothing that happens randomly. And especially not now. The Veil is thick. A crime like this one here could leave a very angry, confused ghost, but not an undead. Not at all.”

“But that he is, right?”

“Without any doubt. A ghost can move simple objects like... a knife. But not something so complex like the human vocal cords. Which he is probably only able to do since he knows a thing or three about anatomy. And is not completely rotten.”

Kitty sighed.  
Massaging the root of her nose, she absentmindedly picked up the pen again to play around with it.

“I don't like any of this.” she finally said “Not the murder, not the fact that... an undead popped up despite everything claiming that this should not be possible. And on top of this, we have to fight an robot army. And a army of humans as well. Heavens. Did you at least got any respond from the Elder?”

“So far, no. Bucky tries to get to her, using the black tome as an aid. But... the Fading Rooms are... are strange right now. Maybe because so many people are killed. Or maybe the rising number of undead. As I said, usually, this whole forgetting is a way of the Veil to make sure that not too many of us are created. Which Fazaka was able to bypass.”

“I really really don't like this, at all. Any ideas what we should do with him now?”

“He's not exactly related to Fazaka.”

“We cannot leave him alone.”

“Of course not, but he can't stay here. I mean... not like this.”

Both looked at Mark. Who seemed to be phased out completely. Understandably.

“This is probably the worst time for something like this to happen. I didn't intend to bring a counselor here.”

“Take ya time thinkin' about whatever ya guys talked about.” said Lance, who just entered the tent, carrying the black tome under his arm.

“Please tell me that at least you have something good to say.” mumbled Kitty.

“Nope. Well, not to ya. The Rooms are all strange. Like, even more than ever. I saw so many blackened corridors...”

“So it's not just me then?” asked Springtrap.

“I didn't want to believe ya first, but now...”

“Any idea what this could be?”

“Not a single clue, bro. However. I finally managed to get in contact with the Elder. Turns out she's also wonderin' about the black paths. And also has no idea. I told her all, and she... well. I am not proud, but I did cause an ancient undead wisewoman lose her shit. She wants to talk to our baby undead here immediately.”

“Understood. So we're having a nice little séance then.”

“Yup.” and Lance looked at Kitty “Iiif ya don't want to have nightmares for the rest of ya life, maybe take a walk. Outside. Far away.”

“You kick me out?”

“Just a well-meant piece of advice. Mortals who catch a glimpse of the black tome's inside tend to... uh... develop some brain damage. Maybe a crack in their soul as well. Ya know. Fun stuff like that.”

Kitty sighed.

“Fine, fine. I have to make some phone calls any way. Is an hour enough for you? I really think we should meet and discuss our further options.”

“Okay. But hey, Kitty. When you call High Command, there's one thing...”

She looked back at him.

“Yes?”

“Erm... well. I don't know what is happening here. Mark should simply not exist. But he does. And if one exceptions exists, then there are probably more.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

**28.11.2020 – Clear Skies** (Project Gaia 4)

 

 

“Don't you think this is a little... rushed?” worried Mark.

“Nah. It's just a tiny bit of light. Easy peasy. Even Springles can do that. C'mon, I really wanna know ya color.”

“You already said that. Why is this so important?”

“Tells ya quite a bit 'bout yaself. For us it's easy.” and Lance pointed at his face “With our eyes glowin' and all. But ya don't glow.”

“You are orange?”

“Yep.”

“What does this mean?”

“Passion, heh! Well... and wrath. It's not really just one specific tone. Every undead has their own color, but ya can put 'em together into groups. Can't tell which trait is the strongest, but ya get a basic idea.”

“Does this change?”

“Sometimes. Nah, more like: Seldom. Over a couple of decades, or even centuries.”

Mark nodded, and his view wandered back to the black tome in front of him. Despite everything that had happened to him, he somehow managed to keep himself together. That impressed not only a few of the peacemakers and agents.

“Mister Bunny is violet, right?”

“Nah, it's Purple.”

“Okay... what does it stand for?”

“Fear... Regret. Fittin' for him. It can also mean creativity. But he gets all defensive when ya say this, so better don't.”

“I will try to remember this. Is red love?”

“No. This is a little bit different from the usual stuff with colors and their meaning. Some are the same, yeah, but... Red is anger. Hatred. Wish for power and change. Drive. Energy. Motivation. Mostly it's stuff that ya do with others. Or because of others. Maybe. Hm. Well, Orange is passion, as I said. It's mostly stuff ya would do _for_ others. And stuff that comes out of yaself. Wish for protection, security, shared burdens and so on. Love in that way does not exist, but if, it would be Orange. Or Blue, maybe. Depends on what ya mean with love.”

“Unusual. And what's with yellow?”

“I hate Yellow. Lyin', cheatin', manipulation and stuff like that.”

“But there must be something positive, right?”

“Yeah... shit like bein' diplomatic and wishin' for balance and blabla. Yellow's probably the hardest to define, since it's all about deception and perception.”

“I am probably that...” said Mark with a hint of sadness in his voice.

“Nah bro, ya most likely a Green. Happiness. Boldness. Endurance and... well, okay, naivety.”

“Oh yes. That fits better. So naive that the brothers of my girlfriend had an easy time murdering me.”

“And still ya keep ya head up. Very Green.”

“If you put it like that... Now I want to know my color, too.”

“Just try it again. We'll know once ya cast ya first Wisplight.”

“That is easy for you to say... I don't... Okay, I have never been religious, but now I actually wonder what my father would say if he knew that I try my hands at... something like this.”

“Well, what would he say?”

“I have no idea. I barely knew him.”

“Hm. Actually, it doesn't matter what the mortals say. They are all right anyway.”

“You mean all wrong?”

“No, all right. That's the funny stuff: What ya think to be right _will_ be right once ya die. Well. Not for us, sure. But for them. So, everyone's right in some way.”

“So, my aunt is now one with the moon goddess?”

“Hm... how did she die? Naturally?”

“A stroke. Three years ago.”

“As a result of a long lastin' illness? Or suddenly?”

“Completely out of the blue.”

Lance thought a moment.

“Maybe she found her path by now. Maybe she's still roamin' the Rooms. Usually, people with faith tend to have an easier time gettin' to their paths. But even these can get lost.”

“I really hope that she is well. I... I never really thanked her for everything she did for me. Okay, we had our differences from time to tome, but I... I really hope she found her way.”

“Ain't ya a peach, bro.”

Mark smiled. It was tiny and shy.

“I just try to be a decent person...”

“And with that ya do far more than the majority on this stinky piece of space rock. Now, back to the forbidden arts. Sorcery is actually really easy once ya found out the basics. All ya need to do is to want somethin' to happen. Like, really really want it. Springles has his problems with that, which... actually fits his personality quite well, now that I think about this... Doubt is also Purple... Ah, I should not try to break everythin' down to the colors.”

“Willpower. I see.”

“Yeah. Well, not only that. See, even Springles can cast sorcery, but it happens... by accident, when shit hits the fan and he really needs to do somethin'. I don't think that ya are an... emergency sorcerer like him.”

Mark tried to focus on the tome. The glowing letters on the pitchblack pages didn't change this time. Probably because it was the book now, and not the Elder using the pages to talk to them. Quite an unique experience, this séance. She asked him many different questions. Not exactly about the circumstances of his death, but more about his former life. His parents, the people he spend his time with. If he ever had been part of some cult or sect. Not much of what the Elder had tried to explain to him made any sense. What he understood was, that mortals forgot about the afterlife. Usually, undead would be spared of this, but even to them, the actual matter of their own existence remained a mystery. Sadly, none of Mark's information had been able to shed any light on this topic.

And all this conversation had happened via the black tome. Despite its otherworldly appearance, it just was a book. He had read many books in his time, both for leisure and for learning. Even a nurse had to know things about anatomy.

He lifted one of his wrapped arms, index finger up in the air.

“Light.” he said, but nothing happened.

Lance shook his head.

“Nah, not like this. It does help to say the name of the sorcery, but ya have to say the _actual_ name.”

“Are these names really something global? Why are they English, then?”

“Because that's the language ya know best. If ya were German, it would be German names.”

Mark didn't seem convinced.

“Sorcery is all about personal thinkin' and so on.” continued Lance his explanation “There are... rules, of sorts, since the livin' world simply has rules for everythin', even for the eldritch. Some really really good sorcerors are able to work outside of these rules, but the common urchin like me goes best by followin' them.”

“Okay... Wisplight?”

A tiny flame appeared right at the tip of Mark's finger.  
It was a rich, friendly blue, like the clearest sky on the brightest summer day.

“Hoooh boy.” said Lance happily “That's nice. Such a vibrant color!”

“Um... what does Blue mean?”

“Much. But in ya case... Hmm... I would say... Hope.”

“Hope?”

“Yes. Blue is all about bein' gentle and helpful. Wishin' for harmony. That suits ya nicely!”

Mark looked at his wisplight, thinking about what he just had learned about himself.

“And the downside? I mean, it's bad traits as well, right?”

“Yep. Even those are fittin'. Puttin' yaself behind the needs of others. Sadness. In the sense of, ya become sad when shit's bad and ya can't change it. Compassion. Okay, that's good as well, but when ya put too much of other peoples' problems on ya own plate, ya won't have room to tend for yaself. I mean... when we found ya, first thin' ya were askin' was about ya girl bein' safe. Thinkin' too much about others can be bad for ya.”

“...wow.”

Lance gave Mark a friendly pat on the back.

“Don't take me too serious. If I learned somethin' since my death then that would be that not all is easy and simple. I like to stick to this color stuff since I tend to put people in boxes. Bad habit. I need to get rid of it. Only leads to petty assumptions and anger.”

“Well, people like me _did_ ignore the problems of people like you. I think it's only fair to be angry.”

“Yeah and what now? Now people like me steal the stuff people like ya worked hard for. Even killin' ya. Sure, I've been angry and hungry most of my life, but this shit is in no way fair. And now let's go back to sorcery.”

“You are... quick to change the subject.”

With a mere shrug, Lance took some reading glasses out of his pocket, and started to look into his notes.

“I have no idea about this 'Mendin' the Elder explained. That's some sorcery the tome never showed me. Probably because I don't have a body that could be repaired. So, you'll have to go through this on ya own. The faster the better.”

“To be honest, I barely understood anything of what the book... this Elder said.”

“That's why I took notes. She was kinda baffled about the whole mess. Guess that's why she went all scientific. However. Normally I would say ya should try basic sorceries first, but this case is special. Can't let ya rot away, right?”

“The bandages should help a little.” responded Mark “As long as I change them, and make sure they are drenched in sanitizer...”

“Yeah but all this stuff inside is still rottin'. That's what I am worried about. Second, sooner or later ya will need to use the Whisper, since ya throat dries up. Don't think that this Mendin' stuff can change anythin' 'bout that, but worth a try. So.Here's the idea. Close the book.”

“Why?”

“It was me who opened it to show ya the Wisplight, so the tome is now... erm, what's the word? Atuned? To me. Since it's me who reads it all the time, it won't switch to anyone else unless that person opens it.”

“Okay, that makes sense.” and Mark closed the black tome, just to open it again some moments later, flipping through the entire first chapter to get to the personalized second part. The pages remained dark for a second or two, before the familiar glowing lines appeared.

Mark read aloud the name of the first sorcery the tome showed him.

“Saintfire. What's that?”

“Somethin' I never heard.” answered Lance “Read the short description.”

“'A skill both rarely seen and unusual in its properties. Saintfire has the unique ability to restore living tissue. While it is not able to regrow lost parts, it greatly accelerates the body's natural healing by ensuring ideal conditions and purging the system from all but the severest sickness. Like all fire skills, Saintfire has the appearance of a flame. Usually, it has a gentle white hue, but embers that match the soul color of the undead are not uncommon. To cast it, the undead needs to put themselves into a gentle, benevolent mental state. Accidentally casting in dire situations is possible as well. While available to most undead, Saintfire tends to come naturally to those who dedicated their former lives tending to the sick and injured.'”

“Bro, paint my nose red and call me Rudolph! That's sick! I need to try this myself!”

“Uh, is that the Mending?”

“Nah, hundred times better! Lemme make some notes!” and Lance grabbed the tome and started to read eagerly.

“Why am I not surprised?” sounded Springtrap's voice “Lance digging into the black tome, and Mark sitting next to him, confused and lost.”

Both Lance and Mark looked up as Springtrap entered the tent.

“Springles! He's a healer!” shouted Lance.

“A what now?”

“Just read it! Here!”

Springtrap went over to the table and quickly read through the summary.

“Aha. Nice. But has nothing to do with his current problems, hm?”

“Yeah, sure, but that could be so-”

“ _Useful_?” interjected Springtrap with a raised brow.

Lance grimaced.

“Ugh... sorry.”

“Did I make some mistake, Mister Bunny?”

Springtrap's view wandered from Lance to Mark. He smiled.

“No, you didn't. And it's not Mister. Bunny is just the alias we need while working for the Agency.”

“Okay... you seemed rather... angry about the 'useful' part.”

“Angry, indeed. But that's not your problem.” and Springtrap looked up at the tiny flickering Wisphlight “I take it that you cast your first sorcery, hm? What a nice color.”

“Do you really think?”

“Yes. I like it. Makes me want to lay down on a meadow and watch the clouds roaming the summer sky. Which is strange since I never did such a thing in my entire life. However, any news about the Mending?”

“We just started.”

Springtrap nodded.

“That will have to wait. The higher-ups just decided that we will move.”

“And leave the factory intact?” asked Lance surprised.

“I'm as unhappy about this as... well, everyone else, I guess. But our contacts within the military say that they plan a large scaled bombardment of places with strong robot presence. We don't want to be around when they drop their nasty shit.”

“Great... Where we'll go?”

“Boston. Basically because they are worried about my mental health. And yours. Can't blame 'em. Well, additionally, they can tend for Mark there. Which brings us to our current task: They'll need a couple of hours to get us ready to move, and we're supposed to use this time to get to Mark's place and get at least some basic stuff out of there. Because its most likely that the place will be glassed once the army is done.”

“Nice one. Strollin' into a robot infested town, lollypops and lemondrops. We were unable to hold the line, how the fuck are we supposed to walk around in there?”

“With the help of our latest little toy. Rebuilding the webworks will take longer than we initially thought, but together we managed to craft some sort of cloaking device. As long as we keep a low profile, the animatronics will not be able to perceive us.”

Lance pondered a moment on this.

“So we combine a field test with gettin' Mark's stuff, huh?”

“Basically, yes.”

“Only us two?”

“Kitty will be with us.”

“Good. Still stupid idea, but Kitty is always good.”

“I always wanted to leave this town behind... but not exactly under circumstances like these.” mused Mark “I hope that at least the most important stuff is still there.”

“As far as we can tell, the actual town was spared by looters. Thanks to the robots. You better write us a list of what you really want to keep and where to find it.”

“Oh, that would not be that much. Some file with papers. A photo album maybe. And... and my... well. I guess, without a breath, I don't have any use for my saxophone, right?”

“Things may change.” answered Springtrap “You will not stop to exist. Never. And who knows, in a century, you maybe will be sad that you left something behind. So, write down what really means something to you. As long as it is not an entire piano, we will get it for you.”

 

 

“How the fuck can he produce such a smile with his face all rotten and wrapped in bandages?! That's not fair!”

“Yes, he's a cutie.” agreed Springtrap with a grin.

“Bro, I wish I was as nice as he is. How can he be such a sunshine? He got murdered, for fucks sake, he has no business to be all smiley!”

“As happy as I am that the three of you get along so well, I would prefer if you could focus a little bit more on our task.” said Kitty.

“Oh c'mon. Ya have to admit that Mark's a nice guy.”

“I am more concerned about his condition. Even if we manage to conserve his body, he has no legs. We can't even equip him with robotic prostheses, since he has no nervous signals that the electronics could pick up. We can handle you two because you basically are robots, but I am afraid that corpse preparation and bionics are not really the strong suit of the Agency.”

“Yeah, his legs are gone for good. And still he's all calm and cool. How does he do this?! I absolutely need this amount of control and coolness.”

“You have a crush.” declared Kitty.

Lance stared at her, then he looked away, trying to hide an awkward little grin.

“Well... maybe.”

“I can't blame you.” said Springtrap.

“Ya like him too?”

“Not in that way, no. Heck, I could be his father.”

“If you gentleman could finish up this discussion we might be able to move into dangerous terrain. Come on, I want this done as quickly as possible and then move to Boston. At least a couple of nights in my own bed would be really nice. I just hope I am actually allowed to sleep, and not carried around from one High Command meeting to the next. Hm. Now that I think about it, maybe the truck is not the worst place to sleep after all.”

“If sleep is your only concern, than you are rather calm.”

“Yes. Ignorant, even. Mostly because I am better informed than anyone else here. Since I like you two, I will accidentally spill some information: We lost forty million people so far, and twice as many are still on the road. Nebraska is officially the first state with zero inhabitants. Most metropolitan regions are firmly in the hand of the rebels, and most of them won't allow refugees. Even if we managed to shut down all hives and production sides, this war would still be on the roll. We literally have nothing to win. On top of this, the leaders of the military ponder if they should re-initiate the production of nuclear weapons. If they are really that dumb, this will be a violation of the Gaia Convention, which will certainly cause a large scaled intervention from the Council. To sum it up: nothing we can do would change anything. Once you realize this, keeping calm is easy.”

“Whooooaa, bro. Did ya hear that?!”

“Yes, hard to believe.”

“Kitty said she _likes_ us!” shouted Lance, over-dramatically pressing his palms at the sides of his face.

“I am more worried about the fact that forty million people died, but now that you mention it, yes, Kitty in fact said that she likes us.”

“Unbelievable!”

“Oh dear I already regret that I said this...” said Kitty, burying her face in her hands.

“Said what? Springles, did she say somethin'?”

“Only that she's looking forward to sleep in her own bed. Beside this, nothing.”

“Right.”

Kitty just sighed, and yet she couldn't help herself but smile.

A little bit outside of the estimated border of the webworks, the three agents readied themselves to enter.  
Both Kitty and Lance doubtfully looked at the tiny glowing pieces of purple metal Springtrap handed them.  
Kitty tried to find the right words.

“I expected something... more...”

“Fancy? Well... this was my idea.” explained Springtrap “The doctor basically checked if I was right or not. These thingies here are a modified copy of stuff we found in the Plushtrap. They produce some field... or radiation of sorts, that makes the animatronics actively ignore the webworks drones.”

“Actively ignore?”

“Yes. It's not only that they don't shoot at them, they get away from any drone.”

“Why?”  
“My assumption would be that they try to keep the webworks nodes out of any fight. And maybe to keep the drones' deception up. Anyway, I precisely copied the part that produces this field, so the robots should try to avoid us at all cost.”

“And you think this works?”

“I hope so. No, in fact, I am rather sure. Don't want to blow my own horn, but the more I work with the metal the better I understand it. Before you ask: This will only work as long as it is within my reach. I still don't know how the Plushtrap is remotely connected to a specter. Also, we cannot use this to enter a hive or a factory, because those have some force field of their own that will overwrite this one. It will keep us safe as long as we don't try to interfere with the robots.”

Kitty nodded, and put the necklace with the glowing chip on.

“I still think we should be careful. The robots may not be the only danger here.”

“You think of looters?”

“Not exactly. But I expect that some inhabitants tried to ensure that their belongings stay where they are. I don't want to step into a bear trap, or some makeshift bomb. Alright. Is everyone ready?”

Lance and Springtrap gave their thumbs-up.  
And so the three of them entered the influence of the webworks.

It didn't take long to run into the first animatronic patrol. Kitty and Lance got tense, but Springtrap remained calm. And indeed, the robots didn't seem to notice them, continuing their walk towards the agents, just to simply turn around once they got close enough to be affected by the repulsion field.

“I am impressed.” said Kitty, curiously glimpsing at her glowing necklace.

“Taking this as a compliment.” answered Springtrap with a grin “But don't get all wild now. We should still try to evade them. And whatever you do, don't make them angry. A significant threat may overwrite our camouflage.”

They continued their way through the rampaged town. Doors smashed, all sorts of things scattered all over the place. The animatronics had searched every house for material that could be used to produce more robots. What they could not use had been thrown away. Clothes, mostly. Things made off wood or glass. And among all this, the remains of humans and pets, slowly degrading. It was silent. Not even crows or other scavengers picked at the ample amount of food laying around. The corpses of those birds bold enough to try shooed away the others. A ghost town, devoid of all higher forms of life.

A large number of robots patrolled the whole area, intelligently coordinating and picking their routes so no place would stay unwatched for too long. The major looting had been finished some time ago. By now, it was all about defending the place. The cold efficiency was both impressive and scary.

The three agents carefully made their way towards the address Mark had given them. Trying to avoid the patrols by walking through backyards and keeping away from tight roads or dead ends. While Springtrap's warding device seemed to work, nobody really wanted to deliver the ultimate prove.

A half hour went by, fortunately without any incident.

The house Mark had inherited from his late aunt was not exactly spacious, but it seemed well kept, given the circumstances. The gate of the garage was missing, as well as most of the stuff one usually would expect to be in there. Again, metal objects and those made of plastic had been of interest for the looting animatronics. Inside, the home was surprisingly sparsely furnished. Cheap and simple furniture, enough for a single person. Two of the rooms of the main floor were completely empty, the kitchen had mostly been destroyed when the robots had taken out the fridge and stove. Upstairs, only a single room was furnished at all. Mark's bedroom.

“Why are there so many empty rooms?” wondered Springtrap.

“He probably sold all the stuff and kept only those rooms he needed heated.” answered Lance.

“What makes you think this?”

“Bro, ya know how ridiculously expensive it is to keep a room warm?”

“... no.”

“Thought so. Is bad enough to have a house this big all for yaself, but imagine, he had to pay for it all himself. Dunno how much he made sellin' his auntie's stuff, but I bet he had to count pennies to make ends meet. And maybe he even had to take over some debts from her.”

“And why did he not simply sell the house as well?”

Both Lance and Kitty looked at him as if he had asked some forbidden question. Suddenly, Springtrap felt very stupid.

“You won't know this, I suppose.” said Kitty after her initial surprise was gone “It has been thirty years since you had to worry about things like this. Simply put: Nowadays, you don't sell a house. That is what inflation had taught. Money may turn useless at any given time. But a house –especially a pre-war home with some plot of land around it – is always good to have. Many people started to grow some vegetables at the side, and keep a good stock of conserved supplies.”

“Okay... I... I see. Wow. I do feel old.”

“That's what makes it so hard when ya are a have-not.” added Lance “Ya are forced to stay in the slums, since police gave up keepin' those in the books. Ya will always find a spot where ya can build a shack. But outside of the slums ya would need a shitload of money to get yaself a place to live. Downside is, that ya can't have a garden in the slums. Soil's bad. Too many people dumping their piss. Or some asshole would steal the stuff ya try to grow. Or simply put his home down there. Some of my neighbors had some chickens, but even these have to eat somethin', right?”

Springtrap shook his head.

“And here I thought things would have been worse in my time.”

“Nah. Shit's always shit in this joke of a country.”

“Just the quality tends to change from time to time.” added Kitty.

“Weird to see you two agreeing with each other.”

Kitty shrugged.

“I am a shanty town kid as well. Okay, today I am better off, since my current position is not that badly paid. But things you grew up with are hard to put aside. Yes, I do have a palette of canned soup in the basement. Just in case. My mother would be proud of me.”

“Or maybe sad cause her girl still can't live without existential fear.” responded Lance.

Kitty grimaced ever so slightly.

“Bullseye.” was Lance's comment to this.

“Let's maybe just do what we are here for.” suggested Springtrap.

He got the list out of his pocket, and started reading it.  
It was a nice handwriting. A little bit cursive, with big loopy Ls and Gs. Rummaging through someones belongings was not exactly enjoyable, to thankfully Mark used to be a well organized person. Even with the mess the robots left behind, the most important things were gathered within minutes. Two thick files filled with official paperwork, a photo album, and a couple of techy nick-nacks like a portable music player and data storage.

“Strange that stuff like this wasn't stolen.” wondered Springtrap “I mean, it's technology. Should be quite the thing the robots want.”

“Maybe not. Turning specialized electronics into usable material again is quite complicated, and needs a large array of different machines. That is why they tent to salvage cars and larger devices.”

“Hm, makes sense.”

Lance came back from his search in the basement.

“His sax is gone.” he claimed “But I found the guitar and the note sheets.”

“Would he still want these?” wondered Kitty.

“Well, as far as I can tell, there's a couple of stuff he wrote himself. Even love songs for his girl.”

“Ah, the carefree youth.” said Kitty with a smile “I remember well, when I was twenty three I... uh. I was in an intense special training to get myself ready for the Agency's infiltration of a petrol company releasing toxic waste into the Pacific in order to punish Hawaii for developing a green alternative to fossil fuel. We lost dozens of agents, and I was badly injured.”

“With twenty three, I was a father of two small kids. Had to build a new room for them, and furniture. Was really nasty to get all the stuff I needed. Had to rub many people's back. Life's been a lot easier when ya where a gang member or simply stole what ya needed. I wasn't, and I didn't. Could only offer the work I could do with my hands in return. Yeah, I remember runnin' on three hours of sleep for a year and a half.”

“And I was dead. Rotting away in a bricked room. After I spend years luring children to pay my abuser with, so that she would be willing to rape me even more.”

The three of them awkwardly stared at the notes in Lance's hands.

“Ya know... I actually don't remember bein' a kid. Had always to look after my own ass.”

“And I had no time for things like music or pesky teenage love.” added Kitty.

“My first coloring book I got in therapy just a year ago. And I loved it.”

Again, they remained silent for some moments.  
Again, it was Lance who spoke again.

“I just remember somethin' Weasel said to me: It's our job to make sure that kids won't have to go through the same shit as we.”

“Oh great, good thing that us old people just managed to start a war. That probably will produce a nice number of orphaned and traumatized people.”

“I guess, what Bucky wanted to say is, that as long as there are people like us, who try to make the world a better place, things are not completely lost.”

“Nah, I was close to Springles' point, but I like ya version better.”

Kitty sighed.

“Well, you two are a joy. However. We got everything from the list. Now it is my turn to search the place.”

The two men looked at hear.

“Search for what?” asked Springtrap.

“Evidence. I dare to guess that we won't just drop Mark somewhere, and that means we need to know more about him. Before it all turns to ash and rubble.”

“You... you think he's hiding something?”

She crossed her arms.

“I understand that you two are not used to nice people and therefor may easily buy this whole story. But I would like to turn some rocks around before I am willing to believe any of this. Mark is... suspiciously nice and well-behaved. On top of this, and I might cite you, undead are not supposed to pop up out of nowhere. I do not intend to be paranoid here, but some parts of my mind itch a little, and since these parts saved my life a couple of times I am willing to follow this itch.”

And so, Kitty spend the better part of an hour to closely inspect everything that could be found in and around the house. It was almost scary to watch her picking up the tiniest hints. Once again, Springtrap and Lance got reminded that Kitty _was_ in fact a veteran agent. Easily she moved around without leaving a single track of herself. Despite literally turning around every stone in the garden, nothing looked different after she was finished.

To her own dismay, she was not able to find anything that would throw some shade on Mark. Beside a missed dentist appointment two weeks ago. Which was excusable, regarding the current war. And the fact that the dentist was either dead or on the run. _And_ the fact that bad teeth were probably not the worst health problem Mark had developed lately.

“I don't like model citizens.” mumbled Kitty “They make me feel uneasy. There has to be something. Everyone has some stains on their west.”

“Ya will have plenty of time to find out.” said Lance “Can we maybe go back now? I'm not really happy 'bout bein' here in the field.”

“You are too quick to trust him.”

Lance sighed.

“Okay. Kitty. Facts on table. He's an undead. If he wants to destroy ya, he will. If ya find shit out 'bout him or not won't change anythin'. What would ya even do? Kill him? Rip his brain out to erase his memory? Ya just tried to find anythin' that would allow ya to rebuff an innocent boy who wrote cheesy love songs for the girl he loves more than his own life. Sometimes, shit is just as it is. Not any coin has a dirty side, so chill the fuck down.”

She didn't respond, but for some seconds, Kitty looked as if she would like to give Lance quite a lecture. However, she decided otherwise. Her whole posture deflating a little, she let out a sigh and looked away.

“I so need some days off.”

“Me too. I'm... I'm sorry. That wasn't the right way to talk to my superior.”

Kitty blinked. Then she turned to Springtrap.

“Did you hear that?! He called me his _superior_! Did you teach him that word?!”

“Bold of you to assume that _I_ am the one doing the teaching here.” responded Springtrap with a smirk.

“Ya got me good. Suits me right. But still I think we should be on our way back.”

“Agreed.”said Kitty “Gather everything and off we go.”

Some minutes later, they left Mark's home behind. Hoping that the tactic from earlier would work again, they made their way back through abandoned gardens and parking plots. They did not get that far. A large number of robots barricaded the road they had taken earlier, any way around was blocked by rubble and dismantled cars.

They backed off. Just to find more animatronics walking through the chilly fog.

“Guess the specter registered us.” whispered Springtrap “Or at least knows that something is off. I don't dare to risk any fight here.”

“Any ideas?”

“It probably searches the way we went before, so I suggest we take a new route back.

“And maybe change our general pattern.” added Lance “I mean, if the specter really picked up our tracks, it will look for us in places just like the ones we used to get here.”

“Good point.” agreed Springtrap “The best way to trick a machine is behaving irrationally. It's open roads now. And criss-cross walking.”

The new tactic paid off. By randomly picking large roads that led into the general direction of the mobile base, the agents were able to avoid larger groups of animatronic scouts and patrols. However, they were slower than before. They decided to cross a large open plaza. But the second they walked around the last corner-

 

Dark. Only the emergency lights were still on. Barely enough to see one's own hands. And surely not enough to run an office. But did it matter? Not anymore, probably. What a rough night. Pestered by phantoms. As if it wasn't hard enough to keep the bunny busy. First, it seemed like the old tales were true, actually. The robots that had killed so many people in here were indeed murderous. But then again, this one didn't move and act like a machine. Surely, it was easy to fool by playing some kid's laughter through the speakers, but that maybe was only the last bits of its programming. Or was it? No, more malicious. Every time the bunny ran off to find the source of the laughter, it was clear to see that it didn't intend to entertain a child. It was out for murder. But that was not important anymore, was it?

There it stood. Right in the door. Tall. Much bulkier than it appeared on screen. Well, the screen was off. As was the ventilation. Odd. That didn't happen before. The workers said that they had replaced most of this place's wiring. A horror show, right here in the rooms of the old franchise. That bunny clearly wasn't Freddy Fazbear. But it fit quite nicely. The fur green with mold and rot, parts of the metal frame exposed. And more. Remains of a long dead person.  
There it stood. Its eyes glowing a deep purple. Finally, it had outsmarted the guard. Strange. Such human behavior. As if the body stuck inside the robot still was somehow thinking, living, plotting. After thirty years in a bricked room, everyone would be quite pissed and out for revenge. Not that the guard had to do anything with this whole murderous story. He just tried to get some cash. That was nothing to worry about anymore, right?

He was dead.

The moment the metal claws dug into his flesh was actually almost a relive. Finally. After four nights of trying feverishly to keep the bunny away, it finally won the game. No more tense nerves. No more nightmares. No more.

The bunny stood there, silently watching the blood dripping from its moldy hands. Chunks of flesh all over the place. A real slaughter.

What on earth was it thinking? Killing people? Innocent people who just had the bad luck working for the wrong enterprise?

The bunny looked up.

Thinking? Nothing. Murdering? Yes. Like the good old times. Power. Having power over the life of a meager human. A decision had to be made. Life or death. The ultimate kick. The ultimate power. Surely, kids were easier to kill. Actually, one could just snap their tiny little necks. Kick their heads off like a fleshy ball. Oh there were so many ways to end a child's life. But were would be the fun? The ecstasy? It was far more enjoyable when the little brat didn't know what would happen to them. It was the greatest trophy when they died with their ugly little smiles on their turnip-like faces.  
It had been far too long since the last one died.

Madness. She was not alive anymore. The bunny had been dug up, but she was dead. No need to continue this whole insanity.

She? No. There is no one else involved. Just the bunny. Just the purple guy. Just ending innocent life. Blowing out tiny little candles. One after the other. How delightful to feel the warmth leaving the body. To know that it was one's own decision that made this happen. That ended a life. Only gods have that much power. Right? What a hilarious joke that even after this little accident, he was allowed to go on. It probably would be more difficult now to hunt down a light to snuff, but on the other side, nothing could stop him. Not even death.

Stop it. Why? What does this earn you? Death is no power. It happens anyway. People die. Lives end. Making this happen earlier is nothing special. Nothing to be proud of.

Is that so? Then, why does it feel so great? Why do so many people savor in the thrill? And do it again. And again.

Stupidity. That's why. Don't you dare doing this ever again. It was already bad enough that you helped her.

Again, a 'she' wasn't there. A William Afton doesn't need anyone's help. And he surely won't help anyone. Beside some kid crossing the line, of course.

You are me. Why do you do this?

Why did you not? It's fun. You should try. I founded a whole enterprise around death. Afton Robotics. Sounds nice, right? I always loved this name. It reminds me of my father. Such a great man. He showed me the purest form of beauty and happiness. Death.

He was a madman. He abused you and your brother, raped your sister and your mother.

There are no brothers and sisters. Ho come you pretend to be me, but don't know anything about us? I guess you are me, since our thoughts are linked. Two voices in the same head.  
You are insane. Insane! I don't allow this to go on. I will... I will end it.

Luckily, they still were there. Canisters, full of old oil. The former manager of the place was always anxious about the lubricant running low, and the robots' gears grinding and starting a fire. Little did he know that the stuff itself was highly flammable. And with the place all filled with plastic, the fire was quick to spreed.  
Burn. It burned. The haunted place burned. Burning away the last evidence. The tracks of the sins committed in these rooms. The bunny burned. It's core was indestructible, sure, but without a proper body it would be no danger anymore. No threat.

Smoke.

Mist.

Swirling silver.

Dark.

The lift never was an actual cozy place to be at. And this annoyingly stupid and not at all helpful AI didn't make it any better. Eggs Benedict? Seriously? But even that lift would be far better that... this. Any place on earth would be better. That had to be one of dad's little jokes. He was a prankster after all. People tend to paint him a darker shade, but so far, nobody was able to prove any of these stupendous claims. Sure, some people were killed in accidents, but then again, being a pioneer in personal robotics didn't come without a price to pay, right? No prove, no guilt. At least that's what Michael used to think. But right now? Being locked in a secret room, with a... a hellish mix of different robots slamming at the door? Not cool. Okay, one could say that security wasn't exactly of high priority to Afton Robotics. But the founder and head genius of this enterprise would not risk the life of his own son, right? Not after what happened to... well. His daughter.

Are you me? Where am I? What is this place?

Michael turned around, and seemed surprised.

“Dad? How... how the heck... how did you manage to get in here? Is there a second door? I knew it! It was one of your pranks! Heck! Get me outta here!”

What is going on?

“Oh, just a bugged robot running amok and trying to kill me. Don't worry, I worked out... most of the problems this circus show had, but... but this here is new. Anyway. Just... just turn it off, okay? I don't know what you tried here, but... but I don't like it. Please. You can teach me your lesson... away. Away from the things here. Please, I promise I will be a nice and good boy.”

I don't know anything about this place. About you. What is going on? Just seconds ago, I was... I burned down... where AM I even?

Michael seemed worried.

“Dad... are... are you drunk again? Dad, that's not really the time for... listen, there is an actual murder robot right outside this room. I don't know how you came in here, but please, please, dad, I beg you, please just get me-”

The door broke down. With a startled screech, Michael turned around, just to face the robot leaping at him. A crazy mess of metal coils and wiring. It grabbed the young man, easily lifting him up, and turned around to leave the room again.  
Micheal struggled. Getting one arm free, he reached out. Tears in his round, purple eyes.

“Dad! Please! Help me!” he screamed.

But there was no help.

Just silvery fog.

And Darkness.

Hands around the neck of the child. It struggled. So dark that not much of it could be seen. Not even if it was a boy or a girl. This didn't matter at all. Just another light to snuff out. How dared they. All happy and laughty. Didn't they know that other people suffered? It was getting harder to get around without being caught. But then again, there was plenty of opportunities just waiting. The body went limp. Dead. But he had to be sure. Not that someone would find this brat, reanimating it. It would get all the attention for being a miserable victim to the Monster of Boston. People would care and shed tears and shake their fists angrily. Well, if someone had cared and shed tears some years earlier, the Monster would never have been. But now he was. And he would not stop. The hate in his core burned, but it was a cold flame. Killing didn't bring him satisfaction. It just had to be done. The homemade bionic arm produced a bone cutter. Surely, it would be easier to end a kid with this one. But that would not be proper punishment. Too fast. They should feel how their time ran out. The head was cut of in a single moment. The arms followed. Yes. Removing his right arm to replace it with something better had been a genius idea. Genius. Just genius.

Just shrouded rooms.

Silvery silence.

Turning black and blacker. Breaking down again.

A woman, crying, struggling. So much fear in her eyes. She would give birth. A copy of himself. It would be his way to make other people pay for what he had to endure. Ruing other peoples' life. Like his own had been ruined.

Collapsing corridors.

Young people, running for their lives. Their screams echoed through the narrow streets. Lights went off. Nobody wanted to be part of this insanity. As long as they kept their heads down, their mouths shut, and their hands busy, he would not bother them. Remember to smile. And let the purple mastermind go on with his business. Clean up the bodies he left. It was easier this way. Easier to pretend that the head of America's greatest robotics enterprise was a normal man. And not a psychopathic mass murderer. A dead end. Some of the youngsters tried to climb the walls. But most just gave up. They hugged each other, crying, weeping. The clacking of metal feet on concrete. A wall of purple glowing eyes stared at them.

Silver intermingling with the blackness.

Death. Pain. Suffering. Tears. Hate. Agony. Struggling. Crying. Emptiness. Fear. Panic. Numbness.  
They would not get him.  
Nobody ever caught him.  
People were too busy with themselves.  
Nobody cared for the weak and poor.  
People pray instead of acting.  
Morale instead of help.  
Stay silent and stay alive.

Remember to smile.

Things that could have been. Possibilities.  
Memories of people who never lived.  
Shards of Reality.

Time.

Soon, all will be the same.

No more now and then.

No more if and when.

The Void will come.

No more you and me.

No more he and she.

All we.

The Void will come.

He jerked up.  
Screaming.  
He screamed like never before. All the power he could muster went into the sound device.

There wasn't any.

His voice vanished in the blurry deeps of the Rooms.

Silence.

The mist swirled around like it always did. But just right in front of him, a single, completely black corridor opened up. Sucking up the silvery fog that filled the Fading Rooms. The essence of the afterlife itself. William had the feeling that he just... managed to get out of this dark place. He could not really remember how he ended up there to begin with. But the things he saw – and felt – were still present in his mind. Did he... just watch alternative versions of himself? Destinies that faded away because his life had turned a different direction? His head hurt. The inside of his head. It was not exactly pain. But somehow he knew that he got into contact with... something that definitely wasn't good for him. It felt a little bit like poison. Acid, eating away at his innermost core. He grabbed a good handful of silvery mist, and tried to wash away the burning sensation. It helped. The fine dust was soothing. It helped him to focus. To regain control over his mind, his feelings.

He tried to get up, but remembered that the Fading Rooms had no concept of standing and sitting.

So he went on gathering himself, to be ready to go back into the living world.

But as he turned around, the usual sight of his own body was not there. Just more corridors staring back at him. No matter in which direction he looked, he could not find the Veil.

“Well shit.” he said “What now? I don't even know how to navigate the Rooms...”

He stared at the black doorway some more, but ultimately decided that it couldn't be helped. So he picked one of the corridors, and started walking.

The tunnel forked again and again, leading from rooms to other hallways to chambers to places that were big as a station. Behind some archways, he spotted colorful pathways laid out for a mortal ghost. But following them would only entangle him even more within the sprawling mess of the Rooms, so he tried to stay outside of them. Not that this was that easy. While he managed to avoid the still active pathways, fragments of old ones were not that easy to dodge. Morsels of a life. When a ghost reached the end of their path, they would go into Elsewhere. Nothing was know about this place. If it was a place after all. Maybe the ghost just was reborn. Or annihilated. Their path, however, would slowly dissolve. The actual memory, the knowledge, was forever part of the Fading Rooms, but the connection would break apart, leaving only pieces and parts without any order or structure behind. And no color. He had to stop one time, to let a train pass, made up entirely of silvery dust. Later, he found himself in a bog of shining metal. Memories. Tiny bits of what mortals had picked up during heir lives. A skilled undead was able to put these things together and read the past of a person. William was one of these skilled undead. While actually traveling the Rooms and looking specifically for something was still not doable, he had a talent to get parts of memories out of the gray hallways.  
If he wanted.  
Now, he didn't.  
His single goal was to find a way back to the Veil, and reenter the living world. But the Rooms were not willing to let him go.  
So he wandered. Roamed the Rooms.

Time went by.  
He stopped now and then, to gather his thoughts. And more than once, he had to turn around, since the corridor he was following suddenly ended in blackness.  
If what he experienced earlier really was a glimpse behind the darkened pathways, he didn't look forward to repeat this trip.

After aimlessly wandering the Rooms for hours, William suddenly felt a nice, warm shine.

He turned towards the warmth, and spotted a faint, orange glow in the distance. He smiled, easily recognizing the warm color. Eager to close the distance, he first walked quickly, then he run. Archways and paths rushing past, he made his way through the rooms.

And reached the Veil.

“Finally.” said Lance as Springtrap's eyes turned purple again.

He was exhausted. Projecting a beacon into the Rooms was nothing he had much experience in. Or much talent. Stuff like that was Springtrap's specialty.

The bunny sat up, curiously eying the place. It was some sort of basement maybe. Some Wisplights flickering in the air, the entrance clearly blocked by all available furniture.

“Uh, care to tell me where the fuck we are? And what... what happened?”

“I hoped you could tell me.” said Kitty, who was sitting next to the makeshift barricade, leaning against the wall. Her black stealth suit was torn, plasters covered the visible skin, and she had a bandage around her left upper arm, soggy with blood.

“Oh shit what happened to you?! Are you alright?!”

She gave away a tiered smile.

“That happens when I suddenly are on my own. Without any sorcery to protect me. But yeah, I'm okay. Looks worse than it is.”

“What-wha-what happened?!”

She sighed.

“Well, I try to make it short. There was a plaza of sorts. Probably a local gathering spot or something like that. And on this plaza, there was... something. A piece of glowing metal. Several pieces, actually, some floating above the base. Around this structure, a good number of people... well, corpses. Neatly aligned into perfect circles, with the glowing stuff in the middle. Quite like the thing you found in Michigan. But... I would say, this here was _finished_. The corpses looked... really bad. It was all old people, withered. But most of them wore clothes I would not put on a granny. So I guess, the... the thing made them age. Anyway. The second the three of us stepped on this plaza, you two simply went down. And I would have gone down as well, but luckily, my Schnelldenker kicked in.”

“Your what?”

“A brain implant. All team leaders and higher agents have it. Should the cerebral cortex stop working for some reason, all the important stuff will be pulled into this nice little tool. It's not exactly healthy – or legal – but it helps to get out of dire situations. So, I figured that whatever this haunted thing did to us was really bad, so I tried my best to get you two out of there. Which was not exactly a joy, since your sorcery went off as well. Took me a while to find a secure place, and, frankly, you are not easy to drag around. Especially not while I am shoot at. But here we are, it's a miracle that the bots didn't find us while you two where in Lala-Land.”

Springtrap stared at her, then at Lance next to him. The other one looked worn out and tired, barely able to keep himself upright.

“Ya had dreams too?” he asked.

“Nightmares. I... I don't really want to think about it.”

“It's the black corridors. I knew these were bad and evil, but this... this is horrible.”

“Do you know more than I do?”

“No. Only that I never want to go there again. The structure we found somehow is tied to the... to whatever happened to us. This is... this is not good, Springles. Not good at all. We can't go there to destroy it. It simply pulls us into some black nightmare. What to do? What should we do? I don't want to be a murderer. I've seen myself. I've done so many... so many unspeakable shit. It's almost as if the blood still sticks to my hands.”

“I killed, too.” responded Springtrap “It was... strange. I was part of the things happening, and at the same time I was not rightly there. No more then and when? Did you hear this as well?”

“Yeah. The Void will come.”

“What does this mean?”

“I don't want to know. I just... bro, I just want to sleep. But I am afraid to go there again. What if some of these things are the future? What if... what if I will become a childfucker someday? I love kids but... but not... I would never want to harm one!”

Lance buried his face in his hands, crying without tears. Springtrap could feel how this sight hurt him. It was a cold pain. And yet, he could not muster the strength to move over to Lance and offer him some comfort.

While he still was not sure what really happened, he knew that it was bad.

The Void will come.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**05.12.2020 – Make your choice** (Project Gaia 5)

 

 

“You look like shit.” said Shu the moment Springtrap closed the door of the van.

“Thanks. I feel like shit as well.”

“It's so good to see you in one piece.”

“Same. Are you guys all right?”

“Somewhat. Enough people knew our name so we were spared the looting. Turns out it does pay off to be a decent family.”

“Good. How are things here?”

“Right now, Boston is under peacemaker control. Project Gaia dropped in to finally do something. They build up containers for people to live in. I know that might sound bad, but compared to what most slum dwellers are used to, an actual warm and dry container with clean water is quite something. I guess we are the only city where the rebels are not a problem.”

“Sounds nice.”

Shu looked back at the agency building.

“Are you alone today?”

“Yes. Lance is... keeping the counselor busy.”

“Oh.”

“I can't help him this time. So, let's just be off. I really want to fill my head with something else.”

“Your wish is my command. Straight to home?”

“Wait. You guys have enough to eat? I have rations that I don't really need.”

“They gave you food?”

“Still do. You would be surprised how difficult it is to supply a group of seventy people constantly on the move, so it is simpler to just hand it out based on the numbers. They have a per-head amount of nutrition and stuff for daily needs. Nobody was really angry that there always was some extra food. Not that this was necessary. The Council is surprisingly generous. If you would need it, I can hand you my supplies.”

“Well, thanks for the offer, I guess. But as I said, we're doing okay. Compared to the rest of the country. It is... a little bit different. People pay in Guilders, the Dollar is worthless. The stuff you can buy comes from Europe as well. If you don't know any German, French, Greek, or Swedish, you have to guess based on the pictures. But hey, at least we won't starve.”

“Good. Then please just get me home. Uh, I mean your home. Not the prison.”

“Oh uncle... It's your home as well.”

And they left the Agency's parking plot.

Looking at the city around him, Springtrap smiled a little. No destruction. No collapsed buildings, no trash. And most important: no corpses. The decencies of civilization. Of course there were peacemakers patrolling the streets, but in the last month, Springtrap had learned to regard these as friends. The unusual high number of different construction vehicles was a hint at the activity in other parts of the city.

“These Gaia guys don't really hesitate, huh?”

“They waited for years to get the green light. Massachusetts officially declared to stand with the Council, against the government. So, basically, we are now a rouge state under Council control, of course they use the opportunity to get some desperately needed groundwork done. Water purification, medical service, and so on.”

“So, the US is falling apart.”

“Right that. Took 'em a while to see what you actually prevented here. The pictures of places completely devastated by the robots sure had an impact. But once they realized, they quickly pledged allegiance to the Council. Oh, by the way: Your cover is totally busted. Be ready for people trying to squeeze all the juice out of you.”

“I know. I am allowed to offer them a phone number to call.”

“And there they will get their answers?”

“No. They'll be put on hold endlessly, with recruiting ads from GASE, the peacemakers, and other organizations playing all the time.”

“Hah! At least they have humor!”

“Thanks. It was my idea.”

“Glad that you didn't lose any of this while you were away.”

They shared some more smalltalk while on the way to the Afton home. It turned out that the Massachusetts Institute was still open and holding their lessons, despite – or maybe even precisely because – the educational board had declared a national shutdown of all universities and schools. But then again, the US government was no longer in charge here. People even considered reinstalling the commonwealth and officially leaving the union to become a sovereign nation of their own. The Council didn't agree to this. Their interference was aimed at bringing back peace and repelling the current threat. They didn't intend to rip the US apart. But people around here were eager to change something.

Springtrap was relieved to see his brother's house undamaged. Despite everything, all was as it should be. Picking up Meatloaf, the family cat, he looked around to make sure that really all was fine.

It was.

“Mom and dad were away helping some Gaia-people out, but since her car is back, they should be around.”

“So it's a surprise, huh?”

“Yep. You dropping by is nothing we expected to happen anytime soon. So better let the stinky bastard down because incoming crushing hug.”

“But I like holding the Meatloaf.” the cat started purring “See? He likes it too.”

“Let's see how he likes it being stuck between two people.” and she turned around to holler into the hallway “Hey, parental figures! I'm home and brought a guest!”

Out of the kitchen, Olivia's honeyed voice came.

“Hello beloved daughter and mysterious visitor! We're only here to quickly get some food, and-” she entered the hallway, wearing a blue overall. Her facial expression changed abruptly when she spotted Springtrap.

“Well.” she said “Seems like our plans just changed quite bit.”

He waved at her.

“Hi. Don't mind me, I just... I don't want to dis-”

“Oh my god give me the cat.” said Olivia, and plucked the purring feline out of Springtrap's arms.

Just in time. Out of the kitchen came Vincent. He produced a tiny gasp, and a fraction of a second later, Springtrap found himself in strong hug.

“This will never change, eh?” he asked his brother after the first surprise was gone.

Vincent didn't answer, and didn't let go for a full minute.

When he finally backed of, he had some tears running down his checks, but still he was smiling happily.

“Welcome home.” he finally managed to say “God it feels like I haven't seen you a year or two. When you left, I could not even say good bye.”

“I'm sorry, really.” answered Springtrap “But things were... rather urgent.”

“I know, I know. Good that you are back. And hey. Seems like you lost weight. So I finally can do this here.” and he picked Springtrap up to whirl him around.

Some minutes later, the four were sitting at the large dining table, with the cat back in Springtrap's arms.

“Sooo. I really hope it's good news that you are back with us?” asked Vincent.

His brother looked away for a second. Which was enough to let them all take a guess.

“Don't get me wrong. It's not that something happened. Well. Beside that I picked twenty air force planes out of the sky, killing the people inside...”

“Yes, we saw the news about that.” said Olivia “And were quite worried. They really threw bombs at one of the most densely populated regions of the US. Unbelievable.”

“But why are you here?” added Vincent.

“Basically because they are going to try this move with all location with many robots. We don't want to be in the field when this happens, and Boston seems to be well secured.”

“So they are going to bomb dozens of towns and cities? Are they crazy?!”

“Yep. Well. Additionally, we maybe need to... think about our tactics. And calm down a little. Quite some stuff happened in the meantime. Don't really know where to start. They upgraded my body, so I think I'm now one of the most advanced tech things walking on this earth. And... well. Accidentally I figured out how to use the strange metal Fazaka used to craft their main parts with. This, in turn, made it possible for us to turn down the hives. So, we were driving around to take out the hives.”

“Not really what I am interested in right now.” commented Vincent “How are you? You do seem tired.”

Springtrap smiled a little.

“Tired, yes. It was me doing most of the work. And... and well. How do I put this. Things may be worse than... than anyone would think. But I don't really want to talk about this right now. Actually, I would like to talk about anything but that.”

“Okay... nobody is pressing you. Do you know how long you will stay here?”

“Well, I have three full days on my own. After this, we will start... a bold project of sorts. That will probably take a week or so. Hopefully not longer. What happens then I don't know.”

“A bold project?” wondered Shu “That sounds ominous.”

“Basically, we try to copy the way Fazaka handles their robot army. Our long-term goal is to find a way to remotely hack the hive-minds, but to do this we need to understand how they work. As a side effect, having a robot army of myself would be helpful. None of the team died so far, and I really would like to keep it that way. On top of this, I do plan some more... personal work. And that's where I probably need your help.”

“My help?”

“Yes. I have quite a large amount of material to work with, so I thought I could try to fashion some sort of weapons out of this. Or armor.”

Shu looked at him with growing interest.

“Maybe go a little bit into detail?”

“Alright.” and Springtrap put the cat on the chair next to him, so he could get the sample of purple metal out of his back pack.

He placed it on the table, all eyes were focused on the dark matter with its purple glowing carvings.

“That's what the Agency calls element S13. We named it blue metal. Or purple metal. When used by Fazaka, it's blue, but once I corrupt it, it will be purple.”

“Wow. May I touch it?”

“Sure.”

And Shu picked up the sizable piece.

“Oh, its far lighter than it looks.”

“Can be as heavy or light as I want it to be.”

“What exactly is it?”

“Exotic matter. At least that is what we think. It has no molecules and behaves completely different from everything science would know. That it is somehow affected by gravity is a miracle on its own.”

“And how exactly do you plan to... work with this, when it doesn't follow natural laws?”

Springtrap took it away from her, and to everyone's surprise, started to form it with his bare hands as if it was soft clay.

“Like I said, I can control it. Even program it. Sorcery can be stored within it, but I am more interested in its physical properties. Nothing on earth except an undead could scratch it. An armor made of this stuff would be impenetrable. If I could make enough for the whole team, they would be save from the robot's bullets.”

“Well okay, but that is not really something I know anything about.”

“You rebuild me. Twice.”

“Yes, but I never made something from scratch. I know how to refit parts and so on, but actually... forging an armor... You need to talk to Oliver.”

Springtrap raised a brow.

“Wasn't he drafted?”

“Oh please. No child of ours would partake in such a crime.” said Vincent “As soon as the military declared the rebels and the Council their enemy, he deserted. Like so many others. He's now mostly working with the police.”

“Okay... But I do not see how he could help me. I mean, he probably knows a thing or three about guns, but...”

“He's a fantasy nerd.” said Shu with a grin “A larper.”

“A what now?”

“Live action role play.” she explained “That's those guys who rebuild medieval stuff and stage real life battles.”

Springtrap blinked at her, his confusion only rising.

“Uuuh...?”

“It's like theater, but with swords.”

“He is really good at this.” agreed Olivia “The things he makes look convincing. He surely can help you with this idea. But may I ask... what made you think about this, at all?”

Springtrap looked away, and needed some moments to find an answer.

“Uh... well... let's say... I got to see some... some things that I absolutely do not want to happen. And... I figured that I need to create stuff. Stuff that helps and protects in order to prevent these things from happening. More I won't say. At least not before I can be sure that my assumption is right.”

“Fair enough.”

“All I hear is work work work.” mumbled Vincent “Enough of that. You are here, you are fine, let's do something nice to lift your spirits.”

“And ours, to be honest.” added Shu “We haven't done much since the war started. You know. As a family.”

 

“So that's how cooking works.” mused Springtrap while watching his brother.

“Don't tell me you never cooked when you were alive.”

“Well...” said Springtrap with a smirk.

“William!”

“Hehe. I know how to make pizza from scrap. Like, the dough and the tomato sauce and so on. But beside this, nope.”

“What did you even eat?!”

“Pizza. If I ate at all. Often skipped meals. Accidentally or on purpose.”

Vincent let out a long sigh, before turning back to the stove.

Family lunch. All the Aftons that had some time spare were invited. But even on a Sunday, they were busy helping out, so in fact, only one would come. Normally, Springtrap would feel bad about this, but he was too exhausted to worry about anything. Now, being here, the tension of the last month slowly faded, leaving him numb and tired. So, he just wanted to enjoy a nice day, far away from the war and whatever was going on in the Fading Rooms.

“I never noticed that.” said Vincent more to himself.

“Probably because you never knew me well-fed. I've always been underweight.”

“Maybe... and still...”

“I don't blame you. Really. And in the end, malnourishment was not what killed me, so screw it. Honestly, I barely remember it anyway. It has been thirty years since I felt hungry. It's easy to forget what doesn't pester you.”

“Thirty years...” repeated Vincent “I am still not over this. Probably never will be. If I think about what happened in all these years... what I did and saw and felt... and you...”

“We should maybe not talk about this. I'm sorry. Didn't mean to bring you bad memories.”

“We should talk. Locking this away wouldn't help any of us.”

“True. But it always ends in us not being able to believe this all.”

Vincent put the lid on the pot, turning down the heat. He did look quite at home in this kitchen. Even with his clumsiness.

“So. That's that.” he said, hanging his apron at the hook “This will need a while to cook, what are we going to do now?”

“Why do you ask me? It's your house, you're the boss here.”

The older brother thought a moment about this.

“Well, actually, there is something I wanted you to ask for quite some time.”

“Yes?”

“What do you want to do with your stuff? I still have it here.”

“Oh geez. That's not really the right time to ask me something like that.” responded Springtrap.

“Why?”

“Because... I... I am busy with the now, and have no room spare for the future.”

Vincent looked at him. He probably knew that his brother was hiding something. But Springtrap didn't really want to bother his family with his brooding. In the end, there was nothing they could do, even if they knew.

The older man nodded ever so slightly, and turned his attention to the clock at the wall.  
Springtrap felt guilty.

“Okay, see... it is... I am really caught up with... with the things I did and saw the last weeks. When you ask me about my old stuff, I... automatically think about the future. Like, I probably will someday move out of the prison. Get a place to live in, and to store the stuff you kept for me all those years. Perhaps I will get a real day job again? What would that be? Am I even good at something? Would someone be willing to employ a... a bunny robot who is a murderer's sidekick?”

“Oh.”

“Yes. Sorry, Vincent. It's not that I would be ungrateful or anything. I just... I just have neither time nor energy to think about all these questions.”

Before Vincent could respond something, the kitchen door opened.

“There comes the hunk.” commented Springtrap the entrance of his nephew Oliver.

The young man saluted.

“Honored to be in the presence of a true war hero.” he proclaimed.

“Yeah, good one. As if.”

“You don't know even the tiniest detail.” said Vincent, probably happy to have something else to talk about “Lately, that Agency of yours wasn't exactly successful at keeping the secrecy up.”

Springtrap sighed.

“Oh fuck, please do tell me more...”

“Let's say, people got it that whenever the peacemakers 'retake' a location formerly infested by robots, you had something to do with it. After what happened here in Boston... And on top of this, there are videos. People nowadays are quick to get their phones out and film something. Actually, the thing in Detroit was very well documented.”

“'The thing' was me zaping a couple of military air crafts out of the blue sky.”

“Nobody shed a single tear.” said Oliver with a shrug “The damage done by them was already far too high. They systematically burn down slums. Dead dwellers won't take up arms.”

“If I kill a killer, the total number of killers in the world won't change.” argued Springtrap.

“That's why you killed a couple dozens at once. And this... shield...”

“That wasn't me.” responded Springtrap “In fact, I am unable... well. At that time, I was. I still am not sure if I could create something that big...”

“But you _can_ do this?” asked Vincent.

“Uh... Lance put me through some intense training. He said that I at least have to get the shield to work. You know, because it actually saves lives. I'm still not good at this, but most of the times it works.”

Both looked at him expectantly.  
To which Springtrap rolled his eyes.

“This is nothing you should know about.” he said “It will only give you a headache. And, actually, as I said, I am not good at this. Might as well blow up your house, or harm you, or both. Which is quite literally the last thing I would want to do. So, no, you won't get a magic show. At least not now. Maybe someday.”

 

It was a really nice meal. At least it looked nice. Springtrap still kept his nose offline. It was easier this way. Else he probably would get sad or angry about the fact that he could not have some of this food himself. The Aftons were by now used to this. The first couple of times, having diner or lunch while someone was barely watching had felt awkward for everyone, but right now it was fine. He was part of the family. With all his oddities.

He hated it.

Not so much the thing itself. Of course it did feel nice to be part of a family. But precisely that was the problem.

He hated the fact that he had taken something like this away from many people. The more he got used to being part of a family, being liked, the more he understood what his decisions in the past actually had destroyed. Most time of his life, and the time spent in the safe room, his reason to regret each death was the fact that whoever died would never have a chance to lead a happy life. But now, he knew that so much more had been ruined. Families, ripped apart by a stranger. Futures ended before they ever could unfold. Children, taken away from their loved ones. Dr. Piers once had said that this was not a good way to think about it. Nobody could say if these families used to be nice and happy. Or if one of the dead kids would have grown up to become a murderer themselves. For some time, Springtrap had found a little bit soothing in this thinking. But right now, sitting here, looking at such a nice gathering of decent people... he had learned what real affection felt like. And now he also understood what the loss of it might cause.

He tried his best not to drop into the hole that opened up before him, but instead to turn this grief into something else. He had made his plans. Secretly snooping around all the research the Agency had done about Fazaka and their technology. Well, not exactly snooping, since he had full access anyway. As horrifying his recent experiences within the Fading Rooms had been, they sure had allowed him to see what other versions of himself had been able to do and achieve. And this, in turn, had changed something. Somehow.

He just had to make sure that whatever he started would take a different direction than the things he had seen.

 

 

“And this really is okay?”

“The fifth time you ask this.” responded Oliver with a smirk.

Springtrap nervously pulled the hood of his black GASE sweatshirt deeper into his face. It was quite oversized, in order to hide his not-really-human body shape. The bunny ears, once pulled back, fitted nicely under the hood. Of course, the muzzle was rather prominent and impossible to miss, but at least not everyone around him would instantly recognize him.

“Well, I don't want to...”

“I know. Rest assured that I would not take you with me if I had some second thoughts about this. If it calms your nerves: it's just you and me. My husband and our kid left the country.”

“Oh.”

“They stay with his parents in western Canada. As dedicated as I may be to keep my home town safe, I'll sleep better when I know that they are out of danger.”

“Understandable.”

It certainly hadn't turned out as Springtrap had expected. But then again, he didn't want to complain. After he had briefly explained to Oliver what he was up to, the later just suggested to move to his place so they could discuss this in earnest.

It was a nicer part of the suburbs. Calm. If there had been damage done by rioters or looting, it had already been cared for. Oliver stopped his police car in front of a small row house.  
The front porch was rather unkempt. Which somehow did not fit the picture of the spotless Afton family. But then again, the owner had probably more important things to do right now.  
The house itself was dark and silent. And not exactly spacious. It was quite obvious that it hadn't been used as an actual home for some time. Oliver probably only came here to sleep. Coming straight from the Afton home, it felt a little bit awkward to enter this small and cold building.

“I’m afraid I can’t offer you anything dad couldn’t do better.” mused Oliver with a sly grin.

“No no, it’s fine. Hey. I slept in a truck for roughly a month. And in a prison during the last year. And nothing will ever be worse than the safe room.”

This was supposed to be a joke. But Oliver didn’t really seem to take it as one. He looked worried. And this expression was almost exactly like Vincent’s.

“I know that this might not be the right time...” he started “But… I really wanted to ask you a couple of things. Like, the day we learned that you are, in fact, not dead… well not gone at least...”

“Uh, yes?”

“Well, see. Dad told us about the things that happened to you. To both of you. The soon he thought that we kids could take the truth, he would tell us. About the things his parents did to him, and you. And the aunts I never got to meet. Of course, he also told us about Freddy Fazbear Entertainment. And, to be honest, it wasn’t exactly hard to gain more information about- okay okay, that might be too much. Later on, when I joined the police, we got to learn about the whole case as a textbook example of how to not handle something. I always had some… special connection to this, since I got asked more than I could count. People knew that I lost someone. In the end, I really wanted to know a couple of things.”

“Ah. Well. Feel free to ask, but I am not sure if I have the answers you are hoping for.”

“It’s not really… stuff about you in particular. More like… the cop in me would really like to know how on earth this whole mess could go on for such a long time.”

Springtrap crossed his arms, and shrugged.

“Corruption. Someone stuffed money into open mouths.”

“It’s hard to believe that an enterprise aimed at children's enter-”

“Ah yes, and here is where you are wrong. It wasn’t a funhouse. And not a restaurant either. That’s all just part of the plot. It was a testing field.”

“What?”

“Right that. The whole idea with entertaining kiddies was just a test. Fazaka first tried to make their animatronics cuddly and fun, so kids would want them. They wanted a robot in every house, to infiltrate them. That’s why they used to be active in the night. Once the great coup started, the toys would simply murder everyone in their sleep. However, it turned out to be difficult. They could not reach a pole position strong enough, and this whole mess with war and national breakdown and skyrocketing poverty didn’t help either. So I dare to guess that they turned a new direction. The pizzerias were training grounds for Fazaka’s programmers and engineers. That’s the big idea.”

“Wow.”

“Yes. The bots should be innocent looking at daytime, but still be able to overcome a human’s struggle to ward them off. You could call it an obstacle course. One guard with limited knowledge, against a bunch of robots. The whole comic kiddy plushy idea was used to keep a low profile. When you put a guy into an actual murder robot factory, you would probably not get many people interested in employment. But hey, just watching some fun bots couldn’t be that hard, right? Sure, there are rumors about people dying in there but hey come on it’s just toys. How hard can it be?”

Oliver seemed surprised. But this was quickly replaced by some sort of professional thinking.

“If you put it like that… incredible. That’s quite a dangerous combination.”

“It is. Of course this all is just my assumption, combined with what the Agency was able to find out. However, since people ask me this all the time, I did quite some thinking. First, I thought that they needed kids for their experiments, but that was just one part of the whole truth. Running tests with adults was important as well. The next thing is that the characters Fazbear employed always were called ‘animatronics’, while they clearly are not.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Simply put, animatronics are just moving parts. You probably know these fish things on a board that you put on the wall and it will sing you something. Or a Santa, wiggling his butt while some Christmas shit is playing. That’s animatronics. Harmless entertainment, not strong enough to actually do some work, and definitely not programmed or equipped with a brain. Next step would be a robot. These are actually meant to work. They can be quite powerful, but in the end are bound to their construction. A robot that is meant to put together some parts of a car would not be able to cut a tree. Sure, there are robots sophisticated enough to do a lot of work, but then again, it’s programs and engineering. Fazaka’s bots are not really robots. They are some hybrid between a robotic worker, and a droid. Droids are somewhat smart. They can interpret sensor input and plan their reaction accordingly. If they are equipped with a celebramite brain, they even can learn. The downside is, that once you capture a single droid, you know the whole production line. Know how they work, what they are meant for, how they are made and so on. Fazaka was able to bypass this using the whole specter crap. Having an actual thinking being coordinating an army of robots from a save distance, and all this with help of eldritch technology that living humans simply can’t comprehend. But when you call it an animatronic, people will think of nothing but dumb and petty toys. That’s all part of the tactic. And it helped. I read that some lawyer even twisted it so that some lower employees were the bad guys, fiddling with the animatronics, who are, per definition, not able to move outside of their original functions. So it was the evil tinkerers who wanted to harm the innocent company. You know, people like me.”

“But you didn’t...”

“Probably not. But hey, I did improve the animatronics in my place, followed the plans and added a little bit of my own. And here we have the next part of this whole scheme. Fazaka used the pizzerias to recruit staff. Like, if you were good with the bots, survived long enough, and most importantly, didn’t give a single fuck about the death of countless people, you were as good as hired. Nobody would draw a connection between murder bots and a franchise that produced Saturday morning cartoons.”

“Unbelievable.”

“But the truth. Personally I don’t know what they tried to achieve on the long run. And we still don’t know where and when they picked up the eldritch knowledge. That’s the big mystery. What we know is, that there are quite some masterminds at work here. Planning over a couple of decades, to reach a goal that is so abstract that even the bright lights of the Agency can’t see the tiniest hint. They twisted so much, used human psychology as a tool to shroud their activities. That’s not just some backstreet criminality, that’s high-end vileness. And we don’t know much. So far, the only thing we can do is fighting the symptoms, hoping that this will hinder whatever big idea the guys behind this all had.”

The young man nodded.

“That’s much to take in. I often got told that I am not wicked enough for this job, but I bet that even the seniors wouldn’t be able to come up with something like this.”

“That’s the next reason that both Fazaka and Fazbear could continue their work. Anyway. Is there more you want to know?”

“Not right now. I need to think about this.”

“Good. In that case… you have Robin here, right?”

Oliver looked at him with a little bit of confusion.

“How did you know? I keep it… somewhere safe.”

“I have the GASE version of it in my head.” said Springtrap while tapping at his left temple “They shook hands when I entered your home.”

“Well… yes I do have a Robin. The peacemakers handed it to me, since I mostly work with them. I mean, the police networks are all dead right now, but we need something to coordinate our actions and so.”

“Understood. May I have a look at it?”

“Why?”

“The GASE Tinkerbells are a little bit different. They are heavily guarded, and have no connection to any other network, to avoid… well you could guess. I only want to know if the peacemakers file a special person as missing.”

Oliver nodded slightly. Without saying anything else, he went upstairs, and returned just a minute later, presenting the small application to his uncle.

“I don’t have full access.” he said.

“But I do.” responded Springtrap, quickly putting his information into the device.

Luckily, the menus were not that different from what he was used to. Even without being able to manipulate them directly with his mind, it didn’t take him long to find the name he was looking for.

Mark Schwartzstein; reported missing since October, 29th, 2020 by Clara Parkers, refugee encampment seven, Philadelphia.

“Weird.” said Springtrap “Doesn’t really fit.”

“Something off?”

“Yes… somehow. The person I was interested in died at the initial outbreak. But he was reported in the end of October. Well. At least I know that his girlfriend is alive. Will probably lift his mood.”

He logged off, and handed the Robin back.

“I think I simply don’t ask any questions.”

“Yep. It’s better this way. Else I would have to explain something I don’t understand either. Would turn into a big mess pretty much instantly. Thank you. But now, we have something else to talk about.”

“Right. Let’s got outside.”

Springtrap tried to get his thoughts back on the task at hand, and followed his nephew into the tight backyard and once there into a tool shed of sorts.

Oliver switched on the light.

And it took Springtrap a moment to understand what he was looking at.

A forge.

Before he really could take it all in, his view strayed over to the large weapon rack at the other side of the room. Easily three dozens of different medieval arms were stored there, and on top of this, five armors.

“Holy fuck.” he mumbled, gawking at the full plate mails resting on their stands.

“Yeah, I've been doing this for quite some time now.”

“These look like they belong to a museum.”

Oliver grinned.

“Hah. It's all show, really. This stuff would barely keep you alive when used in actual combat.”

“And you wear this and stage battles?”

“I used to, yes. Nowadays I'm basically just the guy who makes and repairs the stuff.”

“Why?”

“I don't have that much time, being a father and all. Plus, as you might have guessed, I keep outgrowing the costumes.”

“Wow. I’m so jealous.” seconds later, Springtrap pressed his hands on his mouth.

“Huh? Why that? You are a father as well. Or do you mean my body?”

“… yes.”

Oliver looked down at his own form.

“Just a personal preference. Sure, my job comes with some requirements, but I just like myself this way, always did. You could call it borderline fetish, so it’s nothing to be jealous of.”

“I can’t explain it.” responded Springtrap “The second I first have seen you… I mean… you do in fact look similar to me. To my alive self, anyway. I don’t know. Maybe I got the idea when I’ve had brawn like you I could have been strong enough to struggle against… yeah. That’s probably pretty much it, now that I put it into words.”

“Ah, I… see.”

“Anyway. We really should talk about armors.”

“You are quick to change subjects.”

“Have to be. Time’s not exactly plentiful.”

“Alright. It's not exactly important which material is used, the technique stays the same. You have some padding, so the metal doesn't cut into your flesh. Plus, when blunt force is applied, even an actual armor would not offer much protection.”

“It does not?”

“No. See, armors don’t simply ‘negate’ incoming force. That’s physically impossible. No, mostly they work by deflecting blows.” Oliver went over to his impressive collection of swords, picked one up, and demonstrated what he meant “The blade glides off, so the force behind it doesn't hit vital organs. Of course, a portion of the energy will be absorbed, and that's what the padding is for. It cushions the blow, while the stiff metal makes sure that you won't get hit by full force. However, this stuff can only do so much. A direct hit with a large, blunt object, will dent the metal, squish your body and surely break some bones. That's why plate armor fell out of fashion with the invention of cannons and firearms.”

“I do feel stupid now for not knowing this. When you explain it like that...”

“Don't worry. I would not call this everyday knowledge. To be honest, it was rather tricky to find blueprints and such. There are people who don't take this all too serious, but at least the group I am with wants to keep close to the sources. Well. Now to your idea. I like it, but I am afraid that you put your hopes too high. Even a material that won't break or bend will transfer the energy of a blow into the body. You will still require padding. And I dare to guess that this would somehow hinder the stealth of your... colleagues.”

That was not exactly what Springtrap wanted to hear. But it was true. Which made him a little bit angry.

“So screw this all, I guess...”

“Unless you can make this... metal stuff force to behave like rubber.”

“Rubber?”

“Or something similar. It's rather safe to think that a bullet would not be able to penetrate that stuff, so it would bounce right off. In that case, you could make something like a jumpsuit out of it.”

Springtrap thought about this new idea. A jumpsuit would probably not be as impressive as an armor, but Oliver was right. Kitty would surely refuse to be stuffed into a full plate mail.  
Oliver walked over to a broad closet, and got some sort of mannequin out. It was shaped like an ordinary human torso.

“We could at least try it, right?”

“Right.” agreed Springtrap, and produced the sample of s13 he had, placed it next to the torso on the large workbench.

While he by now was quite adept at shaping and programming the substance, he did not know how much actual control he had about its properties. So far, he could make it lighter or heavier, but making it bouncy like rubber?

“Okay... let me break it down. Basically, what makes a material elastic is the a sort of effect that allows it to reduce or widen the distance between its molecules when a force is applied. While not exactly right, imagine that the energy you put into the stuff is used to bring the molecules back into their original place. And all that without destroying the connection between them.”

“Wow, you know quite some stuff.”

The young man gave him a half-hearted smirk.

“Have you seen the people I grew up with? As a jock among a bunch of nerds, you can't help but pick up the attitude. Plus I didn't want to be the stupid twin.”

“Fair enough.”

“Anyway, since this stuff here lacks molecules... I don't know. Can you make it pretend?”

“I don't know either. So far I can alter its weight. And make it smell like strawberry jam.”

“Uh, what?”

“Oh don't ask. It was a prank. Let's just start.”

Springtrap picked up the piece of s13, and simply spread over the form as if it was soft clay.

Oliver knocked against it.

“Still hard.”

“Yes, sure, I actually didn't try anything yet. Let me see...”

He pressed his fingers into the substance, and connected it to his mind like he always did when altering it. Somehow, he was better than Lance actually doing something with this substance. But still, he had no idea what he was doing.

As if to prove it, the metal reacted by forming hundreds of tiny needles.

“Crap.” said Springtrap.

Oliver was a little more impressed, carefully trying to bend one of the thin spikes.

“This is so cool, man.”

“Maybe, but I really would like it to... behave.”

“I understand what you are trying to get, but I still don't know why you are so eager. As far as I know, GASE has rather good equipment.”

“Ugh, let's just say, I... I don't...” he sighed “Okay. See. All my life I harmed people. I caused pain. Whatever I did, someone had to suffer. Me or others, doesn't matter. I ruined life, tore families apart, destroyed futures, hopes, and dreams. It just doesn't matter if I did it myself or just allowed it to happen. I was part of this. I caused suffering. And now, since the war, I actually killed people. I did it. Violence. I do nothing else but damage and destroy. Whatever power this wretched existence might offer me, so far I only use it as a tool of destruction. For once, I... I just wish that the things I do and create help someone. Help save lives, you understand? Why is everyone asking me? Isn't it clear as it could be? I just made my decision: I will actively try to make the world a better place.”

His nephew didn’t say anything in response, but simply looked at Springtrap.

Who just felt awkward again for not saying the truth.

But what should he tell them? That the Fading Rooms were breaking apart? That different, malicious versions of people’s lives slowly made their way into the collective memory of the human species? That memories of William’s alternate lives had shown him as someone who created things to harm, violate, murder, and destroy?

He simply had to prevent this. Any of this.

So far, his talent with Fazaka’s technology, and s13, had been promising. But in order to make an actual difference, he had to start actively making something all by himself.  
Becoming a creator.  
Who healed, helped, saved, and protected.

It was his innermost wish and desire to make this happen.

Something happened.  
Springtrap could feel a shift of sorts.  
A draft from no specific direction, going trough matter and mind.  
His hands, still buried in the glowing metal, felt the change. Turning from a blackish, oddly looking substance into something that was close to milky glass, or a gemstone, quartz. The otherworldly carvings disappeared entirely, but instead the opaque material as a whole had a light, purple shine.

“What the fucking hell?!” jabbered Springtrap, retracting his hands.

Oliver, not knowing that this was not really how it should be, knocked his knuckles against the glassy stuff.

“Feels different.”

He hit it with his fist, and was surprised that it bounced right off.

“Seems like you made it.” he said happily, looking at his uncle “Uhm… are you alright?”

“No! Am not!”

“But-”

“That never happened before! The glow turns the color of the undead who corrupts the shit, but altogether it stays the same! That… I have no idea what happened!”


	6. Chapter 6

**08.12.2020 – Fall from Favor** (Project Gaia 6)

 

 

“I was specifically ordered to find new tools and strategies against the robot hordes, so I am more than positive that they’ll like this new development.”

“But will they like that you bring me along?” wondered Oliver, looking at the gate somewhat worried.

“Eh, it’s eat or die for them.” answered Springtrap, while he put the code into the small, hidden keypad.

The gate opened silently.

“I knew that the Agency had a knack for secrecy, but this here is ridiculous. I thought the main building was in town?”

“Nah, that’s just the formal office. This here door leads to the labs. It’s an entrance to a secret underground vault full of state of the art vehicles. Where would you put it?”

“Not in a factory that makes canned fish.”

Springtrap grinned.

“Well. You see. There’s something fishy about this place after all.”

The younger man rolled his eyes.

“If I’d happen to have any doubt left about you being the brother of my dad, now would be the time to let it go.”

“You are very welcome.”

“Humor can’t be genetics, right?”

“Probably not. But maybe these crappy jokes are what kept Vincent and me going. Who knows.”

Oliver gasped at the sight of the Agency’s vehicle fleet.

“Oh my god...” was all he could say.

“Told you. We have a bunch of techy things here. Even more since the war started.”

“I know many people who would call this a wet dream at daytime. Now I feel bad parking my little old car here between these marvels. Is that a tank with an electric gun?”

“Seems so.”

“And what is that over there?”

“Some magnetic hovercraft thing. I don’t know if they still work on it. The engineers of the Agency are a little bit offended that our sorcery became the major tool in this war. Now they try out every idea, no matter how crazy.”

“So, you are about to ruin many peoples’ day, huh?” and he nodded towards the box he was taking out of his police car.

“I didn’t ask them to take this personal. So if they want to make a contest out of it, that’s all their problem. I’m only concerned about saving peoples’ lives.”

“I don’t really think that this is a contest. I mean, you also try out every new idea, right? They just do what they can do best.”

“Whatever.”

The lift brought them down into the main hall of the large complex. Most parts were highly restricted. Or used to be. In fact, the ongoing war kept the Agency more than busy, the labs were a hub of bustling activity, work and research, people running test on the newest toys, brainstorming, comparing results and ideas, or simply trying to keep a modicum of order up.

Somehow, a robot bunny followed by a massive man carrying a large box fit so well that nobody seemed to be bothered enough to drop out of their own business.

Following some corridors, Springtrap found the room he had managed to book for the meeting. The local commander would be there, as well as some heads of the engineering and armament squads, and, of course, Kitty.  
To his surprise, everyone was already there. In fact, it seemed that there was a heated debate going on, but the second Springtrap entered, people became silent. There was a tension in the air that made him uncomfortable. Whatever it was they had discussed here, it had been the opposite of nice.  
He tried to shake this awkward feeling of and focus on the reason he had made this appointment.

Together with Oliver, he put the large box on a nearby table, opened it, and started to take out the result of the last three days.

“You call us all here to show us some plastic?” wondered the local commander, a woman Springtrap started to hate.

“Well, I didn’t call you specifically, you just demanded to show up.”

“Watch your tongue.”

“I don’t have one.”

“Don’t-”

“And additionally, this here is not plastic. If you would just be patient enough to let me start.”

The commander looked angry.

“I have been patient long enough.” she scolded “The rules of the Agency are not made so that you can step over them as you please.”

“It’s war.”

“Yes, and our rules are what keep us going and away from chaos. It’s bad enough that High Command allowed a criminal in our ranks, but I won’t stand and watch how you turn this into your personal brigade of puppets.”

Springtrap sighed.

“You really talk basics? Now?”

“I am the local commander, and I discuss what I please.”

“Fine. Then please tell me, what exactly have you done so far to handle this shit? Beside mocking me and our team, standing in our way, and making sure that every form we hand you takes extra long to be decided upon?”

“I say it again, watch your tone, agent.”

Kitty tried to interject.

“Maybe we all calm down a little. This situation is stressing everyone, so-”

“Silence.” commanded the commander.

Kitty had to comply.  
The woman in charge looked around the room, then she focused on Springtrap, her anger clearly visible. Nothing was left of the usually well-behaved, composed bureaucrat.

“So far, we did achieve nothing. All our tries to keep the ongoing crisis at bay failed. Our resources are strained, and on top of this, some more than suspicious self-claimed ‘undead’ tries to seize control, disregarding all the rules and objectives he had sworn to follow. I won’t take this any longer. This mission is on pause. Everything connected to this hoax is on pause. No more experimental tempering, no more so called sorcery, and definitely no more support for an imposer like you. I don’t know what you plan here, but I won’t allow it to go on. Pack up whatever new lie you came up with, your team will not leave anytime soon. We have enough to care about here in Boston, with the rebels only waiting to overthrow us, and the Council trying to rip the US apart.”

People were clearly surprised, and shocked, to hear this.

“Are you mad?!” was all Kitty could manage to ask.

“I ordered you to stay silent.” was the answer “You heard me, agent Kitty. I don’t know how many of you are part of this scheme to erode the Agency. You are hereby suspended, as well as all members of your team. Additionally, you are strictly forbidden to take any personal action, or work privately at the Fazaka or Fazbear cases as well as meeting up or contacting any of your team members. Disregarding this order will lead to your banishment. Am I understood?”

Kitty nodded. She was stiff, and the hostile gleam in her eyes spoke volumes about what she would like to tell the commander, but then again, an order was an order.

Her superior seemed pleased, and turned towards Springtrap.

“The same counts for you. And don’t you dare taking any more of element s13 for your personal gambling.”

“Fuck yourself, bitch.” was Springtrap’s answer.

The commander was displeased.

“Keep this going, and I am more than willing to-”

“You can’t order me around.” cut Springtrap her of.

“Oh yes, I can.”

“I’ve been made tier one, you stupid cow. As long as I am not in the field, only High Command can give me orders. Next time you try to stage a coup, do your homework.”

She seemed surprised to hear this. But that only lasted a second. Her hostility returned quickly.

“If that is so, then this is more than unfortunate. Seems like I am the only sane person left in this Agency. However, I am still allowed to deny you access to my department, and I will do so.”

 

 

“I take it that this wasn’t what you had in mind.”

“Fucking hell! I new that this girl was as dumb as a piece of bread, but this is worse than everything I could have imagined. She simply put our whole campaign on ice. Can you imagine that?! People are dying out there, the hives will make more specters which will make more hives, which will kill more people to make more specters. And this dimwitted bitch just thinks this is a fucking game I came up with!”

Oliver didn’t respond. There wasn’t anything he could say. He threw a last glance at the factory behind them, before starting up his car.

The original plan had been to show the protection suits Springtrap had created to the Agency. Together with Oliver, Shu, and a couple of video games as inspiration, he had managed to fashion something close to a high tech stealth suit, but thanks to the traits of the transformed element s13, these were able to let anything bounce of without affecting the body underneath the skintight material. They even had breathing protection and night view. But after this rather short visit at the Agency, Springtrap’s success became marginal.

“What are you going to do now?” dared Oliver to ask his uncle.

“Heck if I knew. Without the task force, I can’t really do anything. I need the webworks spire to corrupt the hives.”

“Which is build into the Agency truck.”

“Right.”

“Could you maybe try to make a second one?”

“Out of question. I had help from a brilliant woman. And I happen to be out of purple metal to work with. Or whatever we should call the new stuff.”

“Purple glass?”

“It’s more like bubblegum. Whatever. I don’t have any left. And I don’t know how to make it. So either I break into the Agency to steal from their supply, or I try to take a Hive down all by myself so I could work with the metal there. Both not really enjoyable options.”

Oliver nodded. Not enjoyable.

“At least we have the suits we made so far.”

“Sure, but what to do with them? I don’t need one myself, and if I dare to contact my team members, they’ll get kicked out of the Agency and get their memories wiped clear.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah. Ouch is the right word. I don’t want this. These fine people don’t deserve to get turned into empty shells. So, what should I do?”

“Well… you know… I happen to be trained in combat.”

“Hah, forget it!”

“With the suit, I should be almost invulnerable.”

“No. It’s just prototypes. I planned to run some test within the Agency’s labs to make sure. I won’t put these things into a field test. Who knows, maybe they’ll break apart when enough force is applied. Or… or the spikes come back, but at the inside. Or whatever. Gosh this stupid bitch of a commander...”

“Can’t you do anything against her?”

“Personally? No. She’s in charge here, the Agency is rather strict when it comes to its hierarchy, so there’s no bypass. High Command could put her down, but for this to happen they’d need to know what is up. And you can’t contact them directly. They contact you, not the other way around. And even… my Tinkerbell is locked. I’m cut off any network. I’m simply… simply powerless.”

Springtrap buried his face in his hands.  
Oliver couldn’t help but putting a hand at his uncle’s shoulder.

The drive back home was quiet. Nothing compared to how energetic Springtrap had been on their way to the Agency.

Suddenly, he felt old. Worthless. Just a weird guy stuck in a robotic suit. It had been some time since he had felt this way. All the weeks in the field, people had treated him well, like one of them. Like a human. Even with him reminding them that he had no need for sleep and that he could not be lethally harmed, their worried care had made him feel… welcomed.

And now, he wasn’t anymore.

It hurt.

Someone try to call him.  
It was not the Tinkerbell, but the mobile he had build into his head as well.

A little bit surprised, he answered.

“Uh, yes?”

“Hey Springles, it’s me.” said Lance “What the heck is goin on?! We just got kicked out of the headquarters.”

“What?!”

“Yeah I’m baffled too. Some guy just came in and said that we couldn’t stay longer. Didn’t explain shit. Couldn’t even pick up clothes or stuff. What happened?”

Springtrap just pressed his hands against his head.

“Oh geez… Well… where do I start… You know that our commander here is a bitch.”

“She sure is.”

“Actually I wanted to show her something, but she… remember how she didn’t want to believe us when it all started? She still thinks that I’m a liar, but know she also is convinced that I try to somehow turn the Agency into my private army.”

Lance needed a second to get this into his mind.

“You’re kiddin me.”

“Sadly, no. Maybe I wasn’t that polite in return when she said all this shit, but then again she did call me a ursuper. We just got the boot as well. And on top of that, the task force is on ice. Our team is suspended. All is broken.”

“And Mark and me are on the streets. Great.”

“Mark too?”

“Yeah. That guy even tried to take his wheelchair away. Had to remind him that this is peacemaker property. Did they lost their marbles?!”

“Seems so. Boy what a luck that I had the black tome with me, else they would have it by now. Who knows what damage it might have done to the idiots stupid enough to dare a peek into it.”

“What are we gonna do now? I have no place to stay, my home burned down sometime the last month. And somethin tells me that draggin Mark around the city wouldn’t be a good idea.”

“I have to figure something out… Maybe… try to contact the pacemakers?”

“My Tinkerbell is dead.”

“Ah yes… shit. Uh.” Springtrap looked at Oliver next to him “You know. My nephew happen to have a Robin. I try to call someone. Hopefully they are willing to take at least Mark in. And then… I don’t know. I just don’t know.”


	7. Chapter 7

**18.12.2020 – Make it three** (Project Gaia 7)

 

 

Springtrap stared at the ceiling. As if it had the answers of all those questions that bothered him.

What a strange dream.

So vibrant and real.  
He had to watch his own life, but different. Some people had taken him in custody early, so he would grow up a normal, happy kid. Went to college, where they noticed his creativity and talent for machinery. He would earn good money creating robots that helped people, old and young, ablebodied and sick. And then, there had been people in his life. A special someone. Children. Grandchildren. And in the end, he was able to look back, seeing the things he did, and he could be proud of it.

Not the usual dream.

Springtrap knew that some dreams had been touched by the Fading Rooms, but somehow he doubted that what he had watched was part of the Rooms. At least not right now. So maybe this one was homemade. If he had learned anything in therapy, then that the subconsciousness was a strange and busy thing.

But then again, why had this dream felt like some sort of message?

He shook his head and decided to get up. Despite just being a dream, he knew that it would not leave him alone for the rest of the day.

Mostly because there wasn’t anything else to do.

He was idling.

Since the Agency had given him the boot, he stayed at his brother’s home, but only because Vincent had been adamant about this. Calm down a little, they said. So he tried to. Watching TV, playing some games, doing what little chores could be found in a house that was barely used as a place for sleeping.

It was horrible. He felt slow. Useless. Even walking was strength-sapping.

An online encyclopedia told him that what he went through right now was typical for veterans. People who came back from war or war-like scenarios would fall into a deep hole. It had been just some weeks for him, so Springtrap didn’t even want to imagine what it had to feel like for people who spent years at the frontlines. Not even the cat could really lift his moods, but that didn’t stop Meatloaf to try his best. Strange that an animal would form a bond with a robot. One should think that a cat would like warmth and smell. Nothing Springtrap could offer. But still, the cat was there, purring, sleeping next to him. Quite nice, actually.

But the news he watched far too often quickly put him back into misery. Of course, it was Canadian television, since most of the US broadcasting was dead. Right now, he got a nice view at one of the blue metal formations, this particular one in the poorest outskirt of Byzantium. ‘Spire’, that was what people started to call them.

Springtrap shuddered at the bare sight of the object. They popped up all over the world, starting as a ‘seed’, just like the thing in Detroit. They gathered people, probably by some form of sorcery, and once the time was right, the spire would emerge, sucking out the life of all the people it had caught, and starting whatever horrible business it was meant for. The fact alone that their appearance was a global phenomena didn’t fit into the assumption that Fazaka had something to do with them. Or maybe Fazaka had created a network far bigger than anyone dared to guess? But then again, Springtrap didn’t have the feeling that these strange things were something Fazaka made. They were something bigger. More dreadful. And all he could do was watching. The whole world got worried. Nobody was able to explain how the spires worked. Whoever had the bad luck coming near to an active spire would lose their mind and die soon after. Every try to destroy them failed thanks to the otherworldly nature of the blue metal.

Somehow, it didn’t affect him like it did some days before. The portion of this mind that usually was worried felt numb. Springtrap switched some channels, but they all showed some part of this crisis. The war that once took the United States would sooner or later spread over to the rest of the globe. It was only a matter of time that the first hives would appear abroad. After all, there was nobody left fighting them. The army was powerless. So were the peacemakers. Three of the towns the task force had liberated were lost again. Yes, that had been quite a blow for him, but these feelings quickly sunk into the swamp that was his mind right now.

And the Agency didn’t do anything.

He turned off the TV. Needed some seconds to build up the momentum to get up from the couch, and looked around the kitchen if there maybe was something to do for him.

The longer he stayed at his brother’s place the stranger some rooms became. The kitchen for example, with all the things and tools that were useless to him. Food? Sometimes he picked things out of the fridge, just to stare at them. Maybe he started to forget what it was like to be human? Sure, his life was nothing he liked to remember anyway, but… right now, some parts of his mind denied that he ever had had the need for something like food. But the bathroom was probably the most strange thing in this whole house. He didn’t even dare to go in. Just opened the door and stared. Voluntarily pouring water over your body – such a stupid idea!

Stupid. That was what he felt like quite often. Slowly sinking deeper into a silent ocean.

Someone was at the door.

In fact, it was the third time that they’d rang the bell, but only now it reached Springtrap’s mind.  
That was unusual.  
People who had business with the Aftons knew that they were not around at daytime.  
By now he was staying at his brother’s place for something like two weeks – even if it felt like an eternity – so it should… be okay for him to answer?

On his way downstairs he wondered who it could be.

Neighbors maybe? Or people from Project Gaia? The Aftons were by now quite popular with them. But then again, these would know that they were busy. So, perhaps people from the media? That could be possible, although Springtrap hadn’t been pestered by any interviews so far. Since local media were almost entirely busy staying alive and providing information to the populace about the war and ongoing work of Project Gaia, he wasn’t of much interest to them.

Finally at the door, he peeked through the spy.

And was surprised to see a couple of police officers standing at the doorstep, donning the peacemakers’ signs instead of the usual.  
Even with his mind all sluggish, it started to sift through all possible scenarios.  
Something happened to his family. Working at constructions sides wasn’t always safe. Or worse, some rebels had taken them. Or worse-worse: the Agency.  
Or maybe it was him? His record had been put ad acta with the end of his personal trial, but maybe the local commander of the Agency had managed to open up this whole thing? Or cooked up some new story about him? It surely wasn’t beneath the Agency to feign a crime just to get some person into trouble.

Yet, there was only one way to find out.

He opened the door.

“Good day, Mr. Afton.” greeted the woman in charge of the three, then she quickly added “Agent, I mean. I am not sure if I am even allowed to use your real name.”

“Probably yes.” he responded “Am not really at the good side of the Agency right now.”

“Well. That would explain why we could not get them to help us...”

“So? Then, how exactly did you get to know where I am?”

“We were about to find out. That we met you in person is quite lucky. Spares us some time.”

“Oh wow… I should have learned a thing or three about avoiding unwanted attention… Oh well. I guess whatever you want is either putting me into trouble or you need help solving some trouble, so what will it be?”

She seemed surprised.

“You are rather eager-”

“To get out of this place and actually do something?”

“Uh...”

“Lady, I’m having quite some blues right now so yeah, I’d be happy to get something to do.”

“Okay. Okay, well, see, since we have made some good experiences working with you – and you happen to have recommendations – we would like to get some help solving a… rather troublesome mystery.”

He raised a brow.

“’Mystery’ is quite some term.”

To which she just shrugged.

“I don’t know any more. I was only tasked to search for you. But, just between you and me: It probably is something spooky.”

“What a surprise. Okay, give me two minutes to get dressed, then I’m all yours.”

Not much later, Springtrap closed the door behind him, wearing his black GASE suit, since he didn’t really have anything else that would not be everyday clothing with bunnies printed of them. Which somehow didn’t fit his idea of helping out the police.  
Still tying his black necktie, he got into the bully.

“Take your time.” said the policewomen “We don’t need to rush.”

“Oh please, I literally died with a tie around my neck, I could bind one while asleep. Now, care to tell me where we are going?”

“We were tasked to bring you to the police headquarters here in Boston. Everything will be told to you there.”

 

 

With confusion, the officer looked at the papers Springtrap presented to him.

“Uh…?”

“Terribly sorry that I don’t have a normal id. This one will have to do, since I am not exactly bound to a single physical body.”

“Oh...”

“Yeah. Court’s decisions is at the end of the whole thing if you want to read it.”

“Urm, no, all good. I guess. I mean, it’s not really possible to mistake you for someone else.”

“Taking that as a compliment. So, now, what’s up?”

Springtrap was brought into a supervising room full of unknown faces.  
While he easily could tell that the nerves were tense, he tried to play it cool.

“Hello hello everyone.” he said with a smirk “So many people just waiting for me. I'm flattered.”

“Let's see how long this grin will last.” responded an older man, before he offered his hand “Wolf. I'm the head of the police in Philadelphia. And the lady next to me is Mrs. Anamunda, second-in-charge for the law enforcement here in Boston.”

“Pleased to meet you.” said the woman with a flat smile.

Springtrap lost some of his countenance.

“Uh, okay... so something big is going on.”

“So to speak.” said Wolf “We desperately hope that you might bring some order into this madness.”

“Madness is my specialty. So spill the tea.”

“Excuse me?”

“Oh… sorry, I start to pick up the slang of my niece. Just a little nervous. I already got that you guys are at loss, looking for me and so on, but having two high-ranking people here is rather… unique.”

“You could say this. With everything that goes on, I am rather happy that this… situation didn’t make it into the headlines. We already have enough to work on, and certainly don’t need any… what was the word?”

“Eldritch.” said officer Anamunda.

“Yes, right that. We don’t need eldritch activities. Since the Global Agency is not really willing to help us out at the moment, you are more or less the only one we could ask.”

“That’s what I am here for.”

“Good. Very good. Now, where to start. We… oh well. Better just let things speak for themselves. Come and take a look.”

Together, they walked over to a line of interrogating rooms.

Each one had a separate one-way-window. Most people around here looked confused, some even close to a headache. Coffee was plentifully consumed. Springtrap felt how his innermost core made itself ready to face whatever strange thing the police had found. Despite himself still being caught in his downward spiral, he tried to get to the task and concentrate.

In the very first room, two young men were seated, both in handcuffs. They looked quite similar to each other. Both had some brawn, and dark brown hair. With their somewhat dirty faces covered in stubble and tired, brown eyes, they looked like refugees.

“From left to right, Steve and Tobias Parkers.” announced the police chief.

Springtrap needed a second to sort in the names he just heard, but once he got it, his face turned into a hostile frown.

“Oh boy, good that there is some glass between us. I have quite some things to tell 'em.”

“You will have your time with them, I suppose. But let's stay focused. We found the two next to one of the refugee camps around Philadelphia. They were busy burying a corpse. Didn't throw much of a fight. In fact, they confessed the murder of their sister's boyfriend, Mark Schwartzstein.”

“Rotten maggots.” snorted Springtrap.

“So to speak. Now, here is the problem. They both claimed that they were meant to meet up with the rest of their family in my city. They especially went to Philadelphia because the father seems to have a sister there who agreed to take them all in. And, just some miles before reaching their destination, they decided that their soon-to-be inlaw had an 'accident'. In fact, the very corpse they tried to hide was... Mark Schwartzstein.”

Springtrap tore his eyes away from the two men and looked at the chief at his side.

“Excuse me?”

But the old officer just nodded towards the next window.

Not really willing to leave, Springtrap threw one last good look at Mark's murderers, before he walked over.

He had to close his eyes two times and shake his head.

Because in this other cell, two identical men were sitting. They looked a little better off, shaved and washed, but it was clearly them. Along with them was a young women, who shared some features, and the hair color. And a rather thin looking guy with muddy blonde, shaggy hair. On top of this, right next to the later, a ghost. A ghost that looked like an exact copy of the thin boy.

Springtrap's confusion only grew.

“Now, it's my turn.” said the Boston officer “That's the Parkers. Again. Steve and Tobias, with their sister Clara. And the meager guy to the right is... Mark Schwartzstein.”

“What the..?!”

“We are as mad about this as you. We ran all the tests. Trice. With tissue samples from different body parts. The men here are completely identical to the two in the former cell. They claim that they were defending their farm in Crooksville, together with this Mark. They survived, and made their way to Boston, where they meet up with the rest of their family.”

“Okay, now you guys make things up.” mumbled Springtrap.

“I wish it was like this. We compared the DNA of this here Mark with the corpse from Philadelphia, and with the undead Mark you found in Crooksville. A hundred percent match.”

Springtrap stared at her for some seconds. Then he looked back at the ghost. Who was probably a Mark as well, given the fact that he looked like the alive one next to him.

“Oh boy.” was all he could say.

“I hope you see that we need some... paranormal help in this case.”

“Some... okay... okay okay. Let me... let me first talk to... to our Mark.”

“We put him in the next cell.” answered the woman, and together they walked into the small room.

Mark was sitting there, in his wheelchair, bandaged as always. He looked up, and smiled a little as Springtrap entered.

“Hi. Nice to see you again after our… unplanned departure.” he said “I hope it was nice with your family?”

“Yeah sure.” answered Springtrap absentmindedly, as he sat down.

He wasn’t really done with what he just had seen, tried to get his lazy mind into thinking again. To find an answer to this. And come up with something to ask.

“Okay... Mark... You are Mark, right?”

“Uh... sure? I mean, who else should I be?”

“Okay... erm... hey, you haven't been in the Fading Rooms so far, right?”

“No. You didn't show me how to get there yet.”

“And you are... absolutely sure that you never have been there on your own?”

“Not that I would remember. I mean... the time between my death and the day you found me is indeed a little bit... blurry... but I am rather sure that I would remember something... strange like the Rooms happening to me.”

Springtrap just nodded.

Which made Mark somewhat nervous. He looked back and forth between Springtrap and the police officer.

“Is... is something off? Did something happen?”

“Quite so.” responded Springtrap “But... let me try something. Let's both go to the Rooms. I need to check something.”

“Uh, okay... what exactly?”

“If you are you. And not someone... or something else.”

“I do not understand...”

“Later. I will pull you into the Rooms. If you feel something tugging at you, just follow it.”

And Springtrap stepped aside.  
Despite everything, entering the Fading Rooms was as easy as always. After what happened the last time he had been in there, he had avoided the Rooms. But now he just had to make sure.  
He turned around to the Veil, and simply called Mark's name.

It took some time, but finally, another ghost appeared next to William.  
It was a thin, young man with shaggy blonde hair. But, even here, he had been cut into two, with a five inch gap between the upper and lower body.

Mark looked around.

“Whoaaa... that's the Rooms?” he said in awe.

“Yep. Welcome.” responded William.

“Uh... uh... Mister Springtrap? Is that... you?”

“Yep again.”

“You look like a bunny made of blood.”

“I know. Your looks here will always match the way you think about yourself.”

“Oh.” said Mark, and then he looked down at his hands “Why am I not able to see myself?”

“That's just how it is.”

“Okay... but... how do I look?”

“Like the other Mark, and the ghost.” responded Springtrap, and the next second, he greatly regretted that he still had not learned to draw a line between his thoughts and the things he said in the Rooms. Mark looked at him with utter horror.

“The... the other... Mark? What do you mean?”

“There's three of you, right now.”

“What?!”

“That's what is going on. I don't exactly know. Police got me here because no one else was there to help them. And solving strange happenings seems to be a thing I am good at. But I’m still rather baffled. If I hadn’t seen it with my own ey… optical sensors, I’d say they are all nuts. But they are not. I brought you here to check if you might be someone else. An other undead pretending to be Mark. But you are you. Still... you do look strange.”

“Strange?”

“Yes. A little bit like... flickering. Sometimes, you simply... disappear for a fraction of a second.”

“And I guess that this isn't normal?”

“Guessed right. I read of ghost that were murdered in such a brutal way that they shattered into different pieces. But this doesn't apply to undead. And this would not explain why there are three bodies.”

“Please tell me! What is going on?!”

“As I said, we have three versions of you right now. Undead Mark, a living Mark who made it to Boston, and a corpse Mark who was killed in Philadelphia. And maybe we even have four Marks. Because there is a ghost as well. On top of this, we do have your girlfriend's brothers. Twice. That's quite something.”

Mark stared at him with his ethereal mouth agape.

“Told you that your existence as an undead is something that shouldn’t be. But that it would become this strange I’d never even guessed. Let's go back, I need to talk to those other Marks.”

And Springtrap entered his body once again.

Mark, however, needed some seconds to come back. He looked defeated. Not sure what to think or do, he just stared at Springtrap.

“I'm sorry, but I will leave you.” said the later.

“You two were quite for some minute.” wondered officer Anamunda once the two of them were in the supervising chamber again.

“Yeah we were in the Rooms.”

“The Rooms?”

“Afterlife. I’ll explain it to you… later. Right now, I really need all my brainpower to think about this shit here. It’s not possible… should not be possible that… well. Why not. Hm.”

“What?”

“Maybe. I need to talk to the others. Before I even dare to take a guess.”

“Then I’ll join you.” said officer Wolf, and they went into the middle cell.

The four people and one ghost in there suspiciously eyed Springtrap as he entered. They did seem a little bit confused, the two brothers even somewhat startled. No wonder, since they had first-hand experience fighting Fazaka robots.

“I'm a GASE agent.” proclaimed Springtrap as he sat down “I'll leave the explanations for later. Do you know why you are here?”

The four people looked at each other.

“Not really.” said the woman, Clara “We were brought from the refugee camps. The news said something about Crooksville – our hometown – so maybe you want to ask us something?”

Springtrap nodded a little, while staring at the two brothers. He tried to keep his anger down. But at the same time, that probably was the only thing that kept him from completely losing himself into this whole mess.

“Something, indeed. First things first. I know that you fought against a couple of robots on your farm.”

“That's right.” answered the older brother, Steve “The three of us drove 'em off.”

“And then?”

“Went to Boston, obviously. Our parents said that this was the safest place to be at, and so far they were right.”

“And you... three.. arrived here?”

And this was the first time he looked at this version of Mark. It was a little strange to see him alive and well. And to know that they hadn't met. Pushing his own confusion out of the way, Springtrap did what he could do best: stay focused on the work ahead.

“Sure. Took a half day to find our family, but now everything is fine.” said Steve.

“So… Boston. You never planned to go to Philadelphia?”

“Why would we do? There’s nobody there.” answered the younger brother.

“Well, that is strange. Isn’t there an aunt you wanted to go to?”

“None of our parents has a sister. And definitely not in Philadelphia.” responded Clara, after the siblings had exchanged some confused looks.

“Which is true.” interjected officer Wolf “I personally checked the records. No Emmi Parkers in my town.”

Again, Springtrap nodded.

And then, finally, he turned towards the ghost.

“And why exactly are _you_ here?”

Ghost Mark seemed to be a little surprised.

“You... you can see me?”

“Yes. Tell me how you died.”

The living people were confused.

“Erm, who do you mean?” asked Clara, but Springtrap just lifted his hand to cut her off.

Ghost Mark threw a glance at his living counterpart, then he looked at the brothers.

“They killed me.” he finally stated “I helped them to defend their farm, and then... I knew that they didn't like me, but killing me?!”

“What happened?”

“We just reached Philadelphia. Clara's parents said that they had relatives there and hoped they could stay with them for a while.”

“So you didn't travel to Boston?”

“Not at all. When we left, Boston was said to be overrun by rebels and robots alike, so why would we go there?”

“Okay, and what made you stay on this side?”

“That's what I would like to know. I do understand that I am dead, and that there is some other… place?…. I should but somehow failed to travel to. I guess... I guess I was somehow bound to my corpse? I don't know. They brought it here, and I felt like I should follow it. And now I am here, next to Clara, and can't tell her that her brothers are murderers.”

“These are not. Your murderers sit next door.”

The ghost stared at him.

“What?”

“You heard me. Something is going on and I really would like to solve this before dinner. So. Tell me. Have you been in the Fading Rooms?”

“Only for a short time.” answered Ghost Mark.

“What happened there?” continued Springtrap, rather happy that this one had something to tell.

“I don't remember well. I guess... I guess I watched my life? You know, like they always say: When you die, you have flashbacks. Only...”

“Yes?”

“Well... these... these weren't my own.”

“What?”

“Oh, it's nothing I guess. Is just... think I watched different versions of my life? Like, it felt as it was me who did these things, but at the same time it was someone else... and...” the ghost stopped as he looked at Springtrap's horrified expression “Sorry, I don't understand this well. Maybe it is all wrong. I'm not exactly used to die.”

“No no, all fine. Please try to remember. You watched different versions?”

“Yes.”

“Were they... let's say, violent?”

“Some. I often wished that my life would be more interesting, so I guess this was my way to achieve this? Postmortem.”

“I will ask you a single more thing. Please try to remember.”

“Go ahead.”

“The Void will come.”

Ghost Mark shuddered instinctively.

“Ugh, don't say this. I heard it so often...”

“As I thought. That's bad. Thanks anyway. I will get back to you soon.”

And he turned his attention towards the remaining people.

Who all looked quite distraught.

“Don't mind me.” said Springtrap “I just talked to the ghost of Mark. The one who died, anyway.”

Four pairs of eyes looked at him as if he was a madman.  
Springtrap sighed, at got up from his chair.  
Luckily, these cells here were not different from those he himself had been interrogated in, so he knew how they worked. He walked over to the left wall, and pushed a button there. A small part of the wall turned one-way transparent, and allowed to look at the next cell.

“Uh...” was all that Steve could say as he watched his copy.

“That's... creepy.” added his younger brother.

“Indeed. I make it short, gentlemen. It appears that... we have some kind of alternative reality going on. These two here are you from somewhere else. In that version of history, you decided to kill Mark.”

Both men looked up, first at Springtrap, then at the living Mark sitting at their side.

“No way!” said Steve “Why would we do this?! He's a nice guy, I wouldn't want my sister to marry someone else!”

“Well, these here thought otherwise.” commented Springtrap.

Then, he went over to the other wall, and again, the view to the cell next door was clear.

“Who is... that?” asked Clara.

“Funny that it's you asking this. That's Mark. Or what is left of him. Again, he was killed by the hands of your brothers. They cut him into two halves with a chainsaw and left him to rot at your parents' farm. There had been some.. complications with his death, and now he is undead. Don't ask. Fact is, that we have three different versions of Mark here, and two versions of Steve and Tobias. And I might just have an idea what happened. I will let this sink in a moment and then come back to you. Excuse me.”

He waved at Wolf and Anamunda to leave the cell and meet up with the police.  
Both officers seemed to be eager to hear his thoughts.

“You did well in there.” said the man from Philadelphia “You did this before?”

“No.” responded Springtrap “At least not on this side of the table. But let's say, many strange things happened to me since I died. One tends to get used to it. And you better get used to it, too. And quickly. Here comes the thing. I make it short. There is an afterlife. It's called the Fading Rooms. Usually, people who die go in there and bla bla. There's two ways to avoid this. One is a ghost, somehow caught up in this world. The other way would be an undead. Something that is dead but not part of the Rooms. Anyway. Just now, something... strange goes on in the Rooms. They... I dare to say that they... break apart.”

People looked at him.

“The... the afterlife breaks apart?!” asked officer Wolf in disbelief.

“Something like that. I don't know. Fact is, that this... leads to things.. mixing up. Different versions of how things went. So far, I only thought that memories would clash, but right now, it seems that this somehow also affects reality. These three Marks are from three different timelines. Only one of this is ours. Maybe. Eventually there are more. I don't know.”

Despite the silence following, one could almost hear world views shattering.  
It was the Boston officer who talked again first.

“You tell me that something weird goes on in heaven that produces... glitches in reality?”

“So to speak.”

“Okay... okay.. but... which one should we arrest now? There are two murdered ones, but we only have one pair of murderers. I... I don't think that it is okay to punish someone for a crime that was committed by... different... alternate versions of them.”

“That’s not important right now.” answered Springtrap.

“Why not?”

“Because I dare to say that the longer this… split… of realities lasts the more damage it is able to do. Gosh that is fucked up. Sit down everybody, and get me something to write.”

Once he had paper and a pen, Springtrap started to sketch a very basic model of the Veil.

“Okay people, listen up. This side here is the living world. It’s where you guys live your everyday life. The other side is the Fading Rooms. Once you die, you go there.” and he put an arrow leading from one side to the other “Now the whole thing with the Rooms is, that they offer you a way to go. It’s made especially for you, influenced by the things you thought to be right. So if you expect to be judged in death, you will be. That is one part. The other part is, that the Fading Rooms act like… some sort… of collective memory. All things that ever happened are stored within there.”

“How?” asked one of the lesser policemen around.

“It simply happens. The moment a human thinks something, this thinking will influence the Rooms. Either it will become part of your pathway, or it will join the memory of our species. Now, as long as these memories are tied to a person, they tend to be sorted and so. But as the person goes on on their pathway, they will sooner or later… reach its end.”

By now, the paper sported a multitude of pathways, and ghostly people following them. Springtrap was rather happy that he could draw rather well, because it was easier to put things into pictures than words.

“And what then?”

“We don’t know.” he answered “Ghosts leave. Maybe they are reborn. Or annihilated. Or maybe then comes the next level of reality. Some undead call it ‘Elsewhere’, but nobody knows. It’s like the event horizon of a black hole: No information comes out of it. The thing we know is, that the memories once tied to a human are then released into the ocean that is the Rooms. They will scatter around, losing their former order. However. Right now, something happens, as I said. There are… breaches.”

And he drew one.  
People stared at it. As unbelievable as this all was, the fact that they had to face two respectively three physical incarnations of the same person forced them to adjust their minds to something strange. And the fact that this bunny man sounded very serious.

“I don’t know what causes these breaches, but I’d bet my rotten ass that it has something to do with what’s going on right now. The robots, and the spires that pop up all around the world. Whatever the reason, these breaches bring some… I’d like to call it memories of things that never actually happened. Alternative versions of how time could have went but didn’t. How these memories even have a right to exist is beyond me. But I start to see a pattern here. So far, all these… memories are bad. Worse than what actually happened to you and me. And, additionally, they always seem to center around an undead. I stumbled through such a breach and had to see… things. And I am an undead. Mark is one as well. But how does it connect, I don’t know.”

“As far as I understood, these whole undead thing is something highly abnormal.” mused miss Anamunda “Disregarding all and every law and so on. I went through many of the things that had been written about you, Mister Afton. Doubted it all, of course, but now that I got to speak to you in person… The undead are a hole in the Veil right?”

“Exactly.”

“So, maybe… this hole allowed these memories to enter reality? So far, what caused this… as you call it ‘split’ is the death of Mark Schwartzstein, who happened to become an undead in an other version of history.”

Springtrap looked at her for some short time, before going back to his drawing.

“I like you.” he stated “You are able to put strange things together. Could an undead that is part of memories from another timeline turn into a hole in our timeline? And bring some nasty shit with them? In the Rooms, there is no difference between thoughts and things. So once something becomes part of the Rooms, it may be able to become a thing on this side of the Veil as well... Possibly. While changing the way time went in reality is simply impossible, since time is just the now and nothing else, bringing things from different lines into ours would de facto make things real that should not be. All with the help of a foreign undead who is used as gateway. To trick the system. Holy cows.”

“That sounds bad.”

“You have no idea. But the question would be: does this happen by accident, or is this the main reason? And again, how does it happen? And why? There are no thinking beings that originate within the Fading Rooms. They are made up of human feelings, faiths, and memories, so without us the Rooms would be empty. Or not even exist. God that goes so far over my head.”

“You are able to put things back into normality, right?” she asked “I don’t know what you call it, but I read that you could do some magic that makes other magic return to how it should be.”

“Sorcery. That’s what it’s called. But yes, I am able to do this. How do you know?”

She smiled.

“As I said: I read much. Most of it didn’t make any sense, but it seems that this sense comes now. Thanks to you, I guess.”

“Maybe. Or maybe the Veil fails to erase this knowledge. Which would be bad.”

“A hole always weakens the barrier it’s put into right?”

“… right.”

“So, more undead would mean more holes. Which would make the Veil all weak.”

“Right again. But who does it? The Veil always tries to keep things low and nice. It gets thick when many people know much about eldritch shit, but right now… who does it? And why?”

“To bring down the Veil? What would this lead to?”

Springtrap shrugged.

“I’d say it would put and end to any undead and ghost. Any sorcery would be gone. The Rooms would vanish, and all hope and dreams and religion as well. Humans would probably live on, but they would… actually die for good.”

“So this all could be an anti-undead-campain?”

“Or an anti-faith-crusade. Maybe even a try to erase all these memories humanity managed to pile up.”

“As interesting as this all sounds, please come back to groundlevel.” said officer Wolf “We still have a crime here, and we are forced to work with this. I highly doubt that we can put… different versions of the same person into prison. For something someone else did. We have two dead Marks and one set of murderers, so what are we supposed to do? We can’t make two lawsuits out of the different deaths of the same person.”

“Well… I could in fact try to undo this all. If it really is a product of the Fading Rooms, it could be considered sorcery, and I happen to be an anti-sorcercy-sorceror.”

“Okay... what exactly... is the plan?”

“Get them all into one cell.” said Springtrap “And leave me alone with them.”

Quite an event.  
The three different timelines were all put into the same room. The two murderers were the most confused, since so far, nobody had talked to them. And now, they did not only face the very person they killed, but also copies of themselves. That the bandaged man in the wheelchair was somehow also a Mark wasn't really bothering them. They were more busy staring at each other. Only the alive Mark glanced at his undead clone from time to time.

Ultimately, Springtrap came back.

He let his view wander over the people in front of him, sorting his words so he might explain it all. Without freaking them out too much.

“Okay... hey everyone. I hoped that bringing you together would somehow automatically solve this... time... crash... thing, but since this doesn't seem to be the case, I need to try something else. I make it short. You are products of three versions of reality. Brought here by a disturbance in the Fading Rooms. Only one version of you is the right one. The others are... not. I don't personally know which one. But I dare to guess that... you four are the ones from our – my timeline.” and he pointed at the innocent brothers, Clara, and the living Mark “I dare to say this because the... versions that invade our afterlife tend to be much worse and far more violent.”

“What the fuck is going on here?!” shouted the cuffed Steve.

“Shut up, murderer.” responded Springtrap “You killed a nice and innocent man. Just because he didn't fit your personal view.”

“Our sister deserved better than this!” was the answer, and the Steve looked at Clara.

“That's not your sister.” said Springtrap in response “This one belongs to the Steve that didn't kill Mark.”

“And who is that, then?” asked Clara, pointing at undead Mark.

“Your boyfriend. But dead. Undead. As already said.”

“But...”

“Listen, save your questions for later. Give me a moment to prepare. Hopefully, things will be all nice and well soon.”

He concentrated.

During all this time in the field, Lance had forced him to train. Getting used to more aggressive forms of sorcery was hard for Springtrap. His will wasn't strong enough to bend reality. He did learn to create a short lived shield, yes, and his lightnings were sorcery by now as well. But his most useful talent hadn't been part of the training sessions with Lance. Mostly because there wasn't much to train.

He knew what to do.

The result, however, could be anything.

So, Springtrap readied himself. Ignoring the ongoing quarrel between the two pairs of brothers, and the confused questions Clara and the three different Marks threw in his direction, he just focused on the things behind this all.  
Something was off. Not as it should be.  
As much as he hated it, he knew that the Mark he found wasn't the Mark that should be part of this reality. He would miss him, that much he knew.  
When he felt how things started to flow, Springtrap wondered a second if this could be counted as murder. And if he really could be responsible for... deleting... a couple of people.

But there wasn't anything else he could do.

And right now, it could not be stopped.

Reality strengthened. Springtrap was the conduit. Forcing things to move. Like they should be.

It took only a second.

Colors became clear and vibrant, edges and lines sharp and true. As if a thin layer of dust was blown away, the world was hideously real for just a moment.

As real as it could be.

As the view turned back to normal, Springtrap lowered his hands.

From the eight people, five remained. Most of them on the ground.  
The murderers had been pulled into their innocent versions.  
Also, the three Marks had bumped into each other.

And two of them remained.

Both were lying on the ground. The living one was unchanged. But the former undead Mark somehow had been turned into a whole being again, his upper body covered in ripped bandages, his lower half naked. While his body seemed to be alive, it looked sickly haggard.

Clara, the only one not affected by the undoing, was already sitting next to both Marks, clearly not sure how to react. The dead, bandaged man had turned into a copy of her boyfriend.

Springtrap hurried to get there as well.

“What.. what happened?!” mumbled the living Mark.

“Depends. Boston or Philadelphia?”

Living Mark groaned.

“Ugh why would we go to Philadelphia...”

“Good. That was what I wanted to hear.” he turned over to undead Mark “And now to you. Are you my Mark or the Philadelphia Mark?”

“I feel funny. Almost as if… hey. Hey! I have Legs!”

Springtrap nodded.

“My Mark. Crap. Seems like I can’t undo an undead, not even one from an other reality. That’s really not good.”

“Well excuse me?”

“Not your fault. It’s just… not like… well. On the other hand, good that you didn’t simply vanish. We would have missed you.”

Undead Mark tried to get up, but quickly noticed that he was naked. Luckily, the police was quick enough to get the whole picture, so one officer came in to bring him some pants.

It didn’t seem easy for him to get used to the body part he had lost and now regained.

“Am I alive again?” he asked once he managed to get dressed.

“I dare to say yes.”

“So it is indeed blood I hear rushing through my ears… But why… why do I have legs again?”

Springtrap looked over to Living Mark.

“Probably because the Mark of this reality never was cut into half. But that is only a guess. What I would like to know is: Are you still undead?”

“I think so?”

“Prove it.”

Mark lifted his hand.

A skyblue wisplight appeared.

 

 

“The corpse is gone as well.” confirmed one police man “Same as all things the murderers had with them.”

“But our records and pictures are still there.” added an other one.

The higher-ups nodded.

“I am not sure how we will put this all into the books, but as far as I understood, the crimes... vanished. We might have a murdered Mark Schwartzstein from another reality, but he... seems to be alive again. Somewhat. I definitely need some days off.”

Officer Anamunda patted her colleague's shoulder.

“Let's be glad that this all was solved rather nicely. Imagine what could have happened if we had to deal with two murders of the same person.”

The older man shuddered.

“Easy for you two to shrug this off.” commented Springtrap.

“Well, should we be worried instead?” asked the woman.

“Indeed you should. Realities just crashed. If there is some… higher mind behind this or not doesn’t really matter. Just imagine: People might pop up out of thin air. So far, the black corridors only show bad alternatives, so it’s highly possible that it will be criminals and bad people. Oh fuck, just imagine an undead mass murderer! One you can’t just… shoot dead. One that is able to use sorcery! And I now have prove that even I am powerless against them! Can’t undo them. That could fuck up everything!”

“Even more than now?”

He blinked.

“What..?”

“I understand that you are worried, Mister Afton, but just look at it from our perspective: We are mortals. Even if something happens at the other side, there is nothing we could do. So we have to look at things that are here and now: A war between four factions, an Agency that stopped cooperating with us, and countless people that need shelter, support, and help. We are already far beyond our limits, so nothing could make it worse.”

“Wow.”

“It’s just as it is. I have work to do, and sadly, that means I have to leave the questions to others. If the afterlife spits out more criminals, we will try to handle them. If we can’t, then we can’t. If the world ends tomorrow, then it’ll be so.”

“I agree.” said Wolf “We have already enough to worry about. And given the fact that this all is so far away from everything we could manage to change, I say that it’s useless to put any effort into this. Fact is, you solved the problem we had. The remaining people are in any way innocent of any crime, so the colleagues from Boston will get them back to the refugee camps and move on.”

Springtrap sighed.  
Of course, these people here were just mere cops. Part of a strained system. To keep running was their main concern right now. And who would judge them? If he could, he would gladly forget all these esoteric things and move on. But sadly, he was part of them.

“Okay… just… just maybe let me talk to them first. And I’ll take the undead Mark with me.”

“Why that?”

“Because he still is an undead. His body might stop being alive again, or maybe he accidentally casts some sorcery. Or whatever happened to him might attract… new things from alternate timelines. All this really should not happen in a camp full of angsty refugees.”

 

 

They were sitting on the stairs leading up to the Afton home. Mark and Springtrap. It was late in the day, and Springtrap wanted to wait for Vincent to return so he could ask him if Mark might stay for some days. They had quite some talking behind them, and they both were tired. Mark probably even more, because there were things going on in him that he almost forgot about.

“I’m sorry that you can’t stay with them for Christmas.” said Springtrap in order to fill the awkward silence.

“Ah, no, it’s fine.” responded Mark, but his posture said otherwise.

“It really is?”

“Well, I never celebrated it anyway, and I doubt that they will do in the camps. Also, I really have more troubling things on my mind right now. For example that I am a foreign invader from a different world.”

“You should not think about this too much. It’s not that you did it on purpose, right?”

“And still there is no place for me in this world.”

Springtrap tried to find something to say, but he failed.  
To which Mark just nodded.

“You know, all the time I just wanted to be with her again. Hear her voice. Today I finally met… someone who had her face, and her name, and her voice. But it was someone else. A different person. I had not much time to talk with her, but what I get is that… my life didn’t happen here. Her mother had a sister. I got to met her once. In this version of history, this person simply does not exist. Not to start about the things that happened between Clara’s family and me. These here seem to be welcoming and nice, her brothers tried to remind me how they helped me renovating my aunt’s house. There wasn’t anything to remind, because they didn’t do this for me, but for the other Mark.”

Springtrap sighed.

“I’m sorry. Really. I hoped that I would set things right, and-”

“Oh don’t be. You did what you thought to be right. I don’t blame you. It’s just… something I have to work out. I never felt like I… wouldn’t belong here. In my time as a nurse, I had people with different mental conditions. Some explained to me this feeling, that they didn’t felt like being a rightful part of this world. I never got it. But now I do. Things are not how I remember them. People I talked to never existed. The Clara here is not the person I fell in love with. You know, she loved peaches. I made her a peach pie whenever I had some money spare. But this Clara here is allergic to peaches, so she can’t eat them at all. My girlfriend likes Jazz. This Clara likes Blues. It’s things like these.”

“I fucked up, really. I didn’t think enough. I just was afraid that this all could spiral out of control – even more – and some serious damage-”

“I know.” interjected Mark, he lifted his head and smiled a little “I know that you meant well. You did solve the problem. And to be honest… this is only just part of a whole line of things that disturbed me greatly. I somewhat accepted my death and… unnatural existence, and now I have new things to go through. I will accept these as well sooner or later. I am happy that this Clara didn’t lose her loved one. And from what I get, that her family didn’t lose a friend. But I lost. All. Everything. So maybe it is time to be a little sorry for myself, even if that is not really my usual thing to do. And once I am done with this, we have some important things to do, right?”

“We?”

“I am the first prove that the disturbances within the Fading Rooms may directly affect the living world. So I am part of this story, if I want it or not. I just hope that I can help you to solve the riddle.”

Springtrap smiled a little.

“Oh wow… you are such a blue.”


	8. Chapter 8

**19.12.2020 – A Bunny in the Flowerbed** (Project Gaia 8)

 

“I guess that this is… uncommon.” mused Mark.

“I’d say so, yes. I mean, a hundred undead, gathering in the Rooms, to speak with me, and you. As far as I understood, they usually keep out of mortal affairs. So this is indeed new.”

“Even if I don’t know why, this somehow makes me feel better. When even the dead decide to act...”

“So far, all they ‘decided’ to do is meeting up and discussing. It’s still us who need to do the shit. Which we can’t since the mortals won’t help us.”

“But maybe they can change this?”

“I’ll be honest with you, Mark. I really don’t believe that the undead will do anything. You heard it: They had this silent convention for the last millennia that the dead have no business with the living. And I doubt that they will drop out of this ancient behavior.”

“But-”

“They had nothing to lose for dozens of human lifetimes. The undead are not used to… danger.”

Mark didn’t respond. Springtrap could tell that there were things going on in his head. But he only said what he was thinking.

Of course, the echo of his sorcery had been heard. While not as spectacularly on this side of the Veil, the Rooms had reacted to the sudden erasure of a couple of people. Even more so since these people were doubled. The Elder had summoned him. And Mark. For a talk long overdue. Springtrap had been unable to tell how many undead had listened to this talk within the Fading Rooms, but there had been many.

Perhaps all.

The spires affected the Veil. Nobody could tell why and how, but they did. Never before had something like this happened. The undead were worried.  
But then again, they were dead. They had lost all they had, a couple of times even. So why should they be afraid?  
Springtrap was not exactly sure if he would care. He had to, since he more or less was directly involved. But otherwise?

But after all, it was still important that the undead gathered. If there was something to happen to the Veil, only they could do something. But so far, since nobody knew much, they had to watch and research.

“Your brother is charming.” said Mark to fill the silence.

“He sure is.”

“I think I never ate this much in my entire life.”

“Well, to be fair: you do look like you were starving for some time. I still don’t know how he does it. Like, Vincent never really… forces you to do something, but at the same time, you simply can’t say no?”

“I would have needed someone like this to convince people that vaccinating would not be bad for them. How am I supposed to repay this kindness? I don’t have anything left… Where to put the pot?”

“Second on the right. And if it calms your nerves: I gave up finding an answer to this question. That’s just how they are. The whole lot of them.”

“You fit in nicely.”

“Haha… yeah. Except the whole murder part and the thing with the haunted robot and rotting away for thirty years and so on.”

“Wouldn’t it be better if I do the dishes and you dry them?”

Springtrap looked down at his hands in the water.

“Uh. Maybe. I’m doing this every day so it’s kinda just automated by now.”

“I won’t need gloves.”

“Okay okay, we switch.”

“It has been some time for me...” mused Mark once he started washing “But for you, this all must be so much more curious. When was the last time you had to do chores?”

“Eh, I never did that much. When I was alive, I barely slept at home. Everything else I did at Freddy’s. But hey, there it was quite much. Keeping the place clean and nice, hiding dead bodies… you know, the usual.”

“You… were hiding...”

“Not only my own, no. The place always had been a dead trap, not only for kids, but even more so for the people working there. It was always me doing the cleaning, since they knew that I wouldn’t care to call the police. Just remove the corpse, clean the blood, put out a report that someone went missing, go on with your daily business, remember to smile.”

Mark looked at him with genuine dismay.

“That… that sounds horrible!”

“And still I smiled. From ear to ear. Like the madman I was.” he sighed “It was my daily work. Okay, it didn’t happen that often. But when I put the numbers together, more people were killed by the machines than by the person who had me on her leash. But in the end… it doesn’t matter, right? The death count right now is bursting through all and every limit and high score.”

The younger man stopped, and stared into the soapy water for some seconds.

“I just… I guess I just had my very first undead thought.” Mark said with disbelief.

“Uh what?”

“You said ‘death’, and the first thing that I thought was: ‘Nothing for me to worry about ever again.’”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“No… no it’s alright. You just said it: Undead… We have nothing to fear. This just came out of nowhere.”

“Better get used to it. You will certainly think more about yourself than you did before. And in a different way. Don’t know if this will be the case with you, since you happen to have a living body again, but I just think of this here shell as… well. A shell. A tool. It would be bad to lose it, sure, but still, it’s a thing.”

Mark just nodded.

Springtrap had yet to get used to see Mark alive and standing up. Still, he was rather small for a man. And almost skeletal. While unsure why the universe had decided to put him back together, it almost seemed that the material needed to recreate Mark’s lower half had been taken out of the torso. At least partially. Of course, Vincent had practically carried Mark inside, no questions asked, just get him something to eat. Both Springtrap and Mark didn’t feel well making use of someone’s hospitality, but Springtrap didn’t know where else to go. It was bad enough that the Agency had dropped them, but now Mark had a living body again, which needed nourishment, water, sleep, and basic care. Luckily, he hadn’t been dead that long, so he still remembered how to interpret the signals send to him and react accordingly. Springtrap couldn’t imagine what this had to be like. It had been too long for him.

“There is one thing I always wondered.” said Mark suddenly.

“Shout it.”

“Why did you decide to work there?”

Springtrap blinked at him.

“Why?”

“Yes. Why there? I mean, probably other places were looking for staff es well?”

“Uh, but not many of them would have taken in a minor without any education to speak of.”

“But you could have quit and moved on? Asking for recommendation so that someone else would take you. Please don’t get me wrong, but with all that went on there, at least how you describe it, I would quit as quickly as possible.”

“That wasn’t that easy back then. Things were bad. And…” Springtrap stopped.

What a question.

Why exactly at Freddy's? Mark was right, even with the economy lying in shambles, there had been plenty opportunities for someone willing to put some elbow grease into their work.

He tried another run for explanation.

“Maybe I’d become numb. I mean, the first murder happened when I was almost sixteen. And my time with that bitch wasn’t all sunshine as well. So… I guess, violence and dead people just became something usual? I don’t know. Why do you ask me something like this?”

“Because I wonder.”

“You know that I was insane, right? There’s no reason behind my actions. If anything, I regarded the work there as punishment.”

“But why there?”

“I... I don’t know, Mark. I really don’t know. Do I need a reason? One day I just saw a newspaper ad and somehow… I somehow felt like I belong there.” Springtrap seemed surprised to hear this from himself “Yes. I guess… I guess that is what happened. Happy funny dollhouse pizzeria. And my dead-beaten mind wanted to be there. I wanted to be happy. That’s all. There had been many enterprises that tried to sell happiness. Why did I pick Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza? I had to. Something told me that this was the place I need to go. I never thought about this, but right now, it seems to make sense that way.”

“I thought so.”

“What do you mean?”

“I started trying to knit things together. I may not be as good as the Agency when it comes to tactical thinking, but consider: You are here. The very only Mark One specter suit that ended up in the public. And you managed to find it. Be killed by it. And now, you are the one who brought things into motion. Without you, Lance would have been… probably murdered by robots, because the Agency would never have a single clue nor a weapon against the hives. I’m not one to believe in destiny, but then again, I am an undead from another reality. Maybe something strange like fate could be halfway true?”

“You start to put reason into places where none can be. I tried this as well, back then. This wretched unlife, a proper punishment. But you’ll drop out of it sooner or later. There’s no magical man who guides you. No fairies who grant you wishes. The Fading Rooms don’t know any intelligent design. There’s nothing, just pathways, ghosts, and ancient memories.”

“And someone who wants this all to break down, apparently.”

Springtrap stared at him.

Mark just shrugged.

“I am not faithful, I just see it like that: Where there is darkness, there also may be light.”

“That’s the right spirit.” said someone.

Both Springtrap and Mark were startled, turned around to see an agent leaning in the doorway.

“Pardon me.” said the small women “I know it’s not exactly nice to sneak into someone’s home, but I do need to be a little bit cautious to avoid the attention of my superiors.”

Springtrap grew tense.

“Who are you, and what do you want. Speak!”

To which the agent reacted accordingly. She lifted her hands in the air.

“I’m on your side, I swear. I’m Jasmine. Team Flowers. We worked together to get the Bucky out of the hell circus, you remember?”

“I do, but for some odd reason I don’t trust the Agency anymore.”

“Rightly so. Same as me. That’s why I am here. I’ll brief you: The local commander went renegade. She thinks that you somehow corrupted High Command to do your biding, so she regards it as her duty to protect the Agency from this inner foe. Sadly, she has all right to do this. However, she also tries to put us all into lock down. Nothing happens since your team got suspended. I know that she maybe wants to keep us all there in the case of hostile takeover, but her points are rather inconsistent: On one hand she claims that we should pour our resources into keeping the peace up and helping the peacemakers in doing so, on the other hand, all and every ask the peacemakers send to us gets turned down. So, some of us got… a little bit wary. To say the least.”

“Took you some time.” commented Springtrap, his hostility faded away a little, but he still made sure to stand between the agent and Mark.

“I know.” responded the Flower “She’s rather good at keeping things strict. That I was able to get here without being noticed is a miracle on its own. We needed a whole week to orchestrate this, and remember: The Flowers are some of the best spies and infiltrators this side of the Atlantic.”

“Okay. What did you do? Putting a jammer up to interfere with the Agency’s monitoring implants?”

She smiled a little.

“You are good at this. Exactly that is what we did. We got the peacemakers aboard to build an unsuspicious broadcast mast around here. Of course the commander noticed and she instantly demanded the transmitter to be moved to a different frequency. To which the peacemakers responded, that thanks to the Agency’s denied cooperation, this will take two days. And that’s the time window we have to do something. That’s why I am here.”

“To do what exactly?”

“Well, we hoped for a little bit… input from your side. To be honest, it was hard enough to get this all running, so we maybe are a little bit short in the ‘and then what’ section.”

“Oh booooy...” groaned Springtrap while rolling his eyes “And you guys are supposed to protect humanity.”

“Hear me out first. I do have some ideas, but these all are based on your unique abilities, and I don’t exactly know what you can do and what not.”

“Spill the tea.”

“Okay. Our main target is the commander herself. We know that, behind her dutiful facade, she has a personal agenda. But we don’t know what, and we don’t have proof. As long as we are lacking serious evidence, the systems are all on her side since she indeed has the duty to protect her department in the case that High Command gets corrupted. So, what we could do is-”

“Turning the Warden to work for us.”

She blinked.

“Oh you know it?”

“Sure. Had a nice chat with it. You plan to put me into the Agency’s circuits so I can reprogram the Warden.”

“That was one of my ideas, yes.”

Springtrap nodded, and started walking circles in the kitchen, his arms on his back, heavily thinking.

“I doubt that this would work.” he stated after some quiet minute.

“Why not?”

“The Warden is a celebramite-based AI. Technically, I can go in there, but to change it, I’d need to force physical rebuilding. Which will take several days, and might trigger secondary security protocols.”

Agent Jasmine seemed to be disappointed.

“So, that’s off the table then.”

“Yeah. I’d rather not be in there when the system decides to purge itself. But maybe I have an idea. Don’t know if it works, but hey, rather die trying than not dying at all. Oh wait. It’s trying at all, right? Eh, bollocks. To the plan: I can try to come up with some sort of mirroring. If it is information you seek, then I need to rummage through the files which will certainly be noticed. What I could do is, making some sort of picture of the content and put this in front of me as some kind of makeshift shroud to work behind.”

“That… sounds difficult.”

“Hell yes it would be. I’d need to cut myself into two doing this. But it could do the trick. But how do you plan to get me into there? I can travel through conductive matter, and, if I take a run, around a meter through the air, put I can’t go via WiFi.”

“So you would need direct contact?”

“Yes.”

Now it was the agent’s turn to ponder.

“The commander likes to keep us all on a short leash. The Flowers will have a meeting with her at this very evening. If I could put you into a device, and plant it next to a console or something similar with an USB port, would that be enough?”

“Maybe. If you keep that stupid cow busy. You’d see a lightning arch when I travel through the air from one socket to the other. But what should I do then? I mean, with the information?”

“Try to present it to the Warden?”

The door opened.

“She’s not stupid.”

“Weasel!” shouted Springtrap after a moment of surprise.

The old woman made a curtsy.

“The one and only.”

“You guys can’t just walk into my brother’s house!”

“Be grateful that it is us, and not folk that tries to sabotage you.” she answered with a wink.

Agent Jasmine was as staggered as Springtrap.

“How did you know?”

“Pah, that girl in charge is biased. I knew the second I meet her that she has something going on. The war made it impossible for me to get to know what, but thankfully I have rather much time spare since she put me into retirement. That audacity! I have been part of High Command three times! I have BEEN High Command before there was a High Command! And now some upstart brat thinks I am too old to be useful!”

Both Springtrap and Jasmine were in shock.

“You… were...”

Weasel cut her off.

“Don’t be surprised. I founded the Agency. I always say that I ‘just was a part’, put facts on the table: It was me. Everything and everyone else came because I decided so. I might have been able to run an Agency for North America all on my own. But not for the whole world. And the Moon. Anyway. Of course I noticed that the peacemakers put a signal up that overwrites the specific frequency of our own network that allows the department central to keep track on where the agents are. And of course I know that, usually, they follow a catalog that tells them which frequencies they may use and which not. Put two and two together and here I am. Just in time, as it seems, to prevent you from making a horrible mistake.”

“I am all ears.” responded Springtrap, and wiggled his bunny ears.

“The innermost data cores are cloud computing. It’s fluid, at any given time, to make it impossible to read it from the outside. And should the core get cut of power, the data will be lost. Even a sentient lightning will not be able to find any useful data within the system. And on top of that… please. The commander is not stupid. She won’t store critical information within the Agency’s department core where everyone, including the Warden, could see it.”

Agent Jasmine looked at Springtrap. She seemed embarrassed.

“That’s true. How stupid of me to think that.”

“Don’t be harsh to yourself, girl.” said Weasel in a rather motherly tone “This situation is far beyond everything you people are trained to handle. Even I have my troubles finding a solution. You are right with the Warden, however. It will try to defend the system, that’s what it’s meant for. But should you be able to present it rational prove that the system is used against the Agency, it will switch sides. The thing is, that we need to get this information. It’s not stored within the Agency’s computers, sure, but it is certainly stored… in the commander.”

Springtrap starred at Weasel as if she had lost her mind. Which probably was the case, but it always surprised him how serious she sounded while saying these things.

The black woman just shook her head.

“Don’t look at me like that, Bunny. Strange enough that you never thought about this. Hm… seems like you are not half as wicked and evil as I am.”

“Thought about what?”

“The brain, my dear. The human brain is a computer itself. The moment I understood that you are able to haunt electrical devices I also got the idea that you’d be able to directly go into a human’s brain. Sure, it works a little bit different, with all its chemicals and neurotransmitters, but it is in fact nothing else but a very sophisticated, organic computing device. And now is the time that we put you into one.”

“Oh wow.”

“Leave the feelings for later, we don’t have much time. I am here to tell you what I know about how to read a brain. You certainly will not be able to operate something that complex all on your own, but luckily, that isn’t even necessary. You will go into one of the implants and use it for your search. And I will tell you how. After all, it was me who developed this technology. It was me who came up with brain implants. It is still me who holds all big patents in this area. By the way, I am doctor doctor. Just so you know.”

 

 

“You have the results, what else do you want?” asked the Flower team leader with a bored undertone.

“Answers. I want answers.”

“If we can’t find anything then there are no answers.”

The local commander was not satisfied. She got up from her chair and started circling around the large table.

“I put you in charge to search for intern leaks and irregularities. And you return to me with empty hands.”

“We spied on all and everyone in here.” threw agent Rose in “We looked through files, personal data, we eavesdropped on talks and meetings. There is nothing to find. Everything is in order.”

“That is what you want me to believe. I don’t trust you.”

“Well, that is your problem.” responded Lotus “We did what you asked for. If the results don’t match your suspicion, then you just have to do it yourself. Seriously. What did you expect? That some renegades form to overthrow you? We are bound to the Oath.”

“Oh don’t get sentimental. You know as well as I that the Oath is nothing but a formality. I know that something is off here. And I will not rest before I find out what.”

“Speaking of rest. When was the last time you slept?”

The commander crossed her arms.

“I don’t have time for something like this.”

“That is not healthy.”

“I am augmented.”

“Same as me. And still, getting at least some hours of sleep is recommended. That paranoia you are developing might be a hint at your condition.”

She squinted her eyes, ready to start a new round of fight. But instead she sighed, rubbing her temples.

“You can’t imagine the amount of pressure I am under.” she said “High Command is gone and I need to figure out what to do and how deep this corruption reaches.”

“And it is even more important that you look after your health.”

Again, the commander sighed.

“Maybe. Let’s just get over with this meeting and I see if I can make room for some hours of sleep. You are right. So far, nothing has been found. Even my own research was fruitless. Nothing. Perhaps that means that things are really well. If this is true, we can finally start to aid the peacemakers. I won’t dare to strain our limited resources while there still might be some hostile elements among us.”

“Understandable.” said agent Jasmine “Nobody would like to work without a secured backup. But please, we did all we could, and there is nothing to be found. That only means- oh. Hey, you dropped that.”

She picked up something from the ground, and handed it to the commander. Who looked at it.

“I dropped this? It’s a coin cell. I don’t use these.”

“Maybe it fell out of a remote?”

“Could be. Or someone who used this room before left it- ouch!” the commander instinctively dropped the power cell “What the hell?! Was that an attempt to harm me?!”

“Oh please. If I wanted to hurt you I would use something with a higher voltage.” answered Jasmine with some sass “Maybe the cell is damaged. That could be the reason someone left it here. Whatever. I’ll dispose it.”

And she picked up the cell and shoved it into her pocket.

The commander needed a moment to drop out of her hostility. She sighed again.

“Maybe you are right with the paranoia. A battery as a murder attempt. That is kind of paranoid.”

“Since we don’t have anything else to say to you, I’d call this meeting finished anyway.” said agent Lotus as he got up “Seriously, get some sleep. That twitching eye of yours doesn’t look healthy at all.”

Surprised, the commander put her fingers on her right eye. It was indeed twitching. Then she shivered.

“Okay well I guess you are right. Rest it is.”

“Good. See you tomorrow. Flowers out.”

And the seven spies left the meeting room.

The commander waited two minutes, before quickly checking the hidden camera in front of the door. Nobody was there. She let out a deep sigh and started to gather her papers. But her body just didn’t want to work anymore. Fingers all trembling, she dropped the documents twice.

“Good god that is new.” she mumbled to herself “Maybe they are right. Great. Now I’m getting a headache as well.”

She roughly grabbed the files and left the room. Originally she hadn’t planned to actually follow the advice given to her, but it seemed that her nerves decided otherwise. So she went into her personal quarters, dropped the files on the desk, and got ready to rest. At least three hours or so. It would only make things worse if she overworked herself and had to drop out for several days.

 

 

Consciousness lost. Cause: Natural Sleep.

Finally.

Springtrap didn’t know how much time passed since he moved from his suit into that tiny power cell. It hadn’t been very comfortable in there. Luckily. Else he probably would have missed the chance to move into… the commander’s body. A weak connection. But overall stronger than the surrounding air.

What an adventure. Never before had he lowered his internal charge so much. He was just a spark now. A hint of power. But still, he could move. Through the tissue. He had needed some time to find the place, probably triggered some muscle twitching, but then he could nestle in and wait. Wait for the commander to fall asleep. Which was now the case.

So he cautiously tried his options. Right now, he was in a secondary communication implant somewhere in the frontal sinus, right next to the batteries that powered the whole cerebral infrastructure. He didn’t dare to touch these, but he needed the wires. Some part of his mind was always busy keeping his charge down. Or else he would fry the commander’s brain. Even with all she had done, that wasn’t exactly what she deserved. Additionally, he had something else in mind to do to her. With his remaining focus, he traveled through the wiring. Luckily, this was far easier than going through raw tissue. And even more important: He had trained this two times, going into Weasel’s and Jasmine’s brains. Without this training, the task would have surely overwhelmed him. Once he found what he looked for, he settled in. The commander’s Schnelldenker. This device would take over most higher brain functions should she lose consciousness due to some external force or accident. Now, it was in standby. But not for long. Easily, Springtrap took it over, making sure not to trigger anything. He only had shallow understanding of how this worked. Weasel had not been able to help him much with that, since he was so far away from having high-tech knowledge. He had to try by carefully poking around and hoping that his specter core would work out the rest. The implant was connected to a whole lot of synapses, and a couple other devices somewhere in the room between the two brain hemispheres. He didn’t want to power up the actual functions of this thing. What he wanted was the connection to the commander’s memory. The brain itself would not be readable to him, since it was not a true circuit. But that was exactly what the implant was meant for: connecting technology with the brain’s structures.

He found the part of circuits that was meant to do just that. And powered it, while actively suppressing the remaining parts of the implant. It was really difficult for him to manage all these operations while constantly keeping his power level low. But he only had this try.

The wire lighted up, allowing him contact to other implants in order to access the memory.

Then something unforeseen happened.

Along with all the ordinary aids and machines, something else responded to the Schnelldenker’s signals. And it didn’t match any of the signatures Weasel had told him about. In fact, it was basically invisible. Why it responded to him he didn’t know, but he did get the idea that this… thing… was something with similar functions like the Schnelldenker.

And it was about to wake the commander up!

Springtrap had no time to panic.

Without thinking, he split his mind into two.

One half remained in the Schnelldenker, the other one rushed into the foreign implant to take it over.

They needed some time to recover from this.

Being apart was anything but enjoyable.

It took so much more effort to coordinate between the two parts, which strained them even more. A moment they thought about aborting this whole operation. But the Agency needed this information. High Command would probably sooner or later act, but every day that passed was a victory for the hives. And so they pressed on.

It was important to understand the alien device. Not Agency technology, that much they could tell. It was inferior. And yet clearly mimicked the Schnelldenker. But also influenced it.

Springtrap had a hard time communicating with themselves. Himself? Both implants needed to be compared, in order to find out what the foreign one was for. And then again, the main point of this whole adventure was to get into the commander’s memory. And all this before she woke up again.

What they found out was that both implants had their very own networks of connections. And the foreign one somehow was able to shield a part of the mind against the Agency’s technology. But that, luckily, was no use against Springtrap. Every and all programmed security was easily overwritten, and soon both implants were fully under their control.

Now was the time to start.

Carefully, they send out queries into the commander’s memory. The Schnellerdenker’s network first. It took some time to get used to read the output, since Springtrap were still not an AI. But once they got used to it, reading the mind became easy. Memories passed, networks of information were put into order to reveal the commander’s thoughts and actions. Most of them were centered around her daily work. She was stressed, this much was clear. But while delving deeper into her mind, Springtrap noticed that it was fractured. Parts were missing. Chains of thoughts ended all of the sudden. Their split mind had to cooperate. Putting pieces together. And yes, what the one network was lacking the other could fill in. And that was the interesting stuff.

The foreign implant apparently was meant to cut out thoughts and memory that was not supposed for the Agency.  
And slowly dissolve them.

The memory structures Springtrap found showed clear signs of active forgetting. Weasel had explained a little about techniques that allowed implant users to make things disappear from their record. This took some time, but ultimately, they would vanish. That was, in fact, highly prohibited within the Agency. And was probably the hint they needed.

It was no use delving deeper into the second network. The things stored there barely made sense. What Springtrap could read revealed that the commander had indeed some hidden campaign running in the shadows. She had information about Springtrap. Unfortunately it became not clear what exactly, since these parts had been erased. But this knowledge was what made her so hostile. They thought a second about what this could be. The crimes they committed were known to the Agency. As was everything else, actually.

And then.

Finally.

Jackpot.

Hidden deep inside the strange implant, they found it.

And it surprised them a great deal.

The commander was a mole. Put into charge by the US military. To observe, sabotage, and erode the Boston department of the Agency. Again, there were hints at something the military had found out about Springtrap. Again, it was not clear, what exactly.

But that had to wait.

Springtrap put everything they had found together, and, just like Weasel had told them, used an emergency function of the Schnelldenker, to send the collected data straight to both High Command and the nearest Warden AI.

Mission accomplished.

While it still was unbelievable that the US army had been able to infiltrate GASE, at least this farce had been put to an end.

They merged.

Springtrap was rather happy.

And retreated into the sinus implant.

Surely, it would take some time to put everything back into order. He had some experience with splitting his mind, thanks to his shenanigans with Fazaka robots, but this time, he had to split his whole being into two. That hurt. Somehow.

But he had time now.

Waiting for things to happen.

He had done his part, now, the agents had to act. As soon as the Warden decided to switch sides, they probably would take the local department by force. Something he could not help them with, being trapped within the commander’s body. He just could hope that she would not escape. And that the fight for the department would not last that long.

It was hard to tell the time.

This tiny implant did not have a clock. And without anything coming to him from the outside, what felt like a minute could have been an hour, and vice versa.

It still troubled him that there was ‘something’ to be found out about him. Something he didn’t know. Maybe rumors? He knew that the swindling nature of the eldritch gave birth to wild stories and even wilder imagination. So maybe the military had picked up some of these. That would explain why they had been looking for him. Even going so far putting a bounty on his head, apparently. If they dared to infiltrate the Agency, it must have been something huge. And that was what made him so uncomfortable.

He spend his time thinking about this.

And repairing the damage done by the split.

So, this was what it had felt like for Lance? Being trapped in a tiny little device with almost zero functions? The actual purpose of this implant was secondary communication with Agency technology. Doors, for example. Or the vending machine in the lounge. He could, in fact, switch on and off the lights of the commander’s room. But he didn’t dare to do this. Because the complex implant structure would probably register his fooling and react. Which he should avoid. At least as long he could not be sure that the fight for the department had turned to the agent’s favor. Which he couldn’t.

So, waiting it was.

Waiting and poking around in his own mind. Luckily he was used to this. Not exactly with this much isolation – at least not since he had been brought out of the damned safe room – but still.

It had been quite some time since he had a talk with some therapist or counselor. The blues he had went through since the Agency had kicked him out probably prevented some nasty things. He was lacking the energy to actively hating himself. And then came Mark. While Lance was somehow attracted to Mark, Springtrap had some other feelings. More like a father, maybe? He didn’t know what it was like to be a father. Only by observing Vincent’s interaction with his family Springtrap learned what an actual father looked like. Maybe he was not that. A big brother? Could be. Anyway, he wanted to make sure that Mark was safe and well. But on the other hand, he wanted this for other people too. It was hard to understand all these things that still were new to him. For the longest time, he had only cared about himself. His own gains, his own pains.

But now he was part of a family. Of a team, even. Now he had a daughter. He hadn’t talked to her for some weeks now, since the infrastructure necessary for reaching the Moon had been damaged.

He only could hope that whatever went on down on Earth would not reach the Moon. A spire popping up on Luna? Where one could not simply run away? Horrible.

But would he care if it would not affect him personally? If Sandra, his therapist, had not done her research that ultimately brought Springtrap and Samantha together? He probably would not even know how many people actually lived on the Moon. While this whole colonization project had been on the way in his days, that had not been something within his horizon. That had been Europe. Far away. Nothing for him to care about.

Maybe.

Did this mean that he had grown? As a person? To care for others? It was his most desired wish to do better. While he could not bring back the dead – not undo the suffering he had caused, he could cover these by piling up good deeds. Saved lives. And maybe, sometime, in a thousand years, it would be enough.

Such a long time?

And yet, maybe the world was about to end. Things were not exactly great right now.

He did not know how many spires were around already.

Maybe he could build something that could localize them. After all, they affected the Veil. Making it thin like paper. That would require some sort of device that would be able to feel the presence of the Veil itself. But maybe that was not the right way to think about it. The Veil was not a physical phenomena. It was not there in any way. It was more like… at the side of the real world. Not part of it, but always around the corner. Different points of the world led to the same points in the Fading Rooms. If the Rooms had ‘points’. But then again, Fazaka had been able to build machinery that affected the Veil. Creating the specters. So, it was possible that man-made technology connected to the Veil. He just had to find out how.

Time went by.

And he moved in circles. Spiraling through his usual thinking about guilt and how he had ended children’s lives, and how unfair it was that he was allowed a second chance, that he had found a family, friends even. A place to be. A pace to fill. A work to do. A role to play. In a large, large, very large act. It was so hard to believe that Fazaka had done this all. Their robots, sure. The plan with the pizzerias, okay. But sorcerous spires that mysteriously killed people by draining their life force? And how could this possibly be connected to the breaks in the Fading Rooms?

He somehow remembered a thought from months ago.

Fazaka… originated within the Rooms? Maybe. Maybe it was not that some scientists had found a way to tap into the eldritch, but more like… the eldritch had found a way to tap into some scientists?  
But then again, there was nothing within the Rooms that had not been brought there by mortals. Undead had no power over the Rooms, so it had to be a mortal who did this.  
Maybe someone like him. An insane soul, brilliant sometimes. Cruel. Murderous.

How much he regret the things he had done.

And the next turn started.

Again and again. Slightly different from times to times, but overall, he was caught between his guilt, his gratefulness, and his fear for the world.

But even this slowed down. The room between two thoughts grew.

More and more he was idling.

And in a quiet moment while not thinking anything, he noticed activity.

How long exactly had the implant been busy? He could not tell. His specter core probably had managed to imitate the usual functions of the device, because now he could feel the queries rushing through a far away part of his mind. So, the commander was awake again. And she seemed to be busy. She communicated with… doors. Lights. Consoles. Droids. Even weapons. Was she fighting?

Springtrap had to focus so his awareness would slow down again. Time was difficult to track when nothing happened, but now there was. The commander was indeed fighting. Or at least leading such a battle. That could only mean that the renegade agents had started to take over the department. Springtrap hoped that they would be careful. Who knew what this mole would be ready to do to them?

Maybe he could…

It was worth a try.

And so, he took over direct control. And blocked the data streams that left the implant. While he could not tell how much this would affect the commander, he hoped that at the very least it would disturb her enough to earn the agents some time. If she could not even open a door, she probably would have some trouble, right?

Again he lost his grasp on how time flew by. It was faster again, signals bombarded him from other parts of the brain, but he easily cut them of. It was impossible to tell how long she had been fighting before, but now, with her most basic implant refusing to work, it seemed hard for her to keep on going.

The flow of incoming data stopped.

And it was silent again.

Was she dead? Or did she find a way to bypass the implant? Maybe she had a replacement somewhere. Or the military tech could take over some of these functions.

Something happened.

Springtrap almost jumped out of the micro chip.

An electrical shock?

It had been weak, almost not noticeable. Well, for the commander, at least. What happened?  
He dared to stretch his influence. Carefully turning the wiring into a part of his own. Mostly to find out if the commander was still alive. She seemed to be, but was not doing anything.

Again, a weak electrical current went through her body.

This time, Springtrap could even feel where it entered. A place not far away from the implant he resided in. He decided to investigate.

And he found a stable way out of the commander’s body.

He went this way.

It took some moments for him to get used to… wherever he was now. He found… a sound system. And a camera. Locomotion?

Oh.

This was a combat droid.

Putting the camera into his mental eye socket and shoving the micro into his ears, his mind became aware of…

Well.

A bunch of people, in front of him. Still, a cable connected the robotic unit to the commander.  
She looked ruffed. While not dangerously wounded, it was clear to see that she had taken quite some beating.

“And there he is.” said Kitty.

Or at least a person with Kitty’s voice. Hard to tell, because the agents all were wearing the protective suits Springtrap and Oliver had made some days earlier.  
Good for them.  
Because what he could see of the area told him about a rather massive battle.  
Doors bashed, wall plating charred or blasted off. A couple of droids littered the floor. Luckily, no bodies. At least not around here.

“Are you guys all right?” asked Springtrap.

His voice was a little bit off, but clearly him.

“Little worn out. But else quite fine.” said someone else, a voice Springtrap could not recognize.

“Good.” answered Springtrap “What day is it?”

“You’ve been in her for two full days and some.”

He nodded. Or at least tried to do so. The Agency’s droids had no heads.

“Lies.” said the commander “You idiots put the scammer back on the throne.”

“Scammer, huh? Said the bitch with military tech in her head.” threw Springtrap back at her “Be thankful that I got this all done smoothly. And not fried your squishy little brain there.”

“Yeah sure, as if.”

He had no eyes to squint.  
But that didn’t keep him from trying. And sending a weak current through the cable.

“Ouch!”

“Bitch.”

“Easy there, Bunny. She’s no danger anymore.” said Kitty.

“Maybe, but the army still is. They… know something about me. Something that I don’t know. That makes them so hostile. I guess when it is some eldritch shit…”

“You don’t know what exactly?”

“She’d erased crucial information.”

The agents were silent for a second. One could almost feel their scorn for these techniques. Not only because they were not allowed to do this, but more because it made their work so much more difficult.

“So I heard right.” said Lance, who just entered the small room.

He did not wear a special suit, so Springtrap could easily see how relieved the other was. Lance smiled at him.

“Good to see ya, Springles.”

“How can you tell that this is me?”

“Purple lights. And such. Are ya alright?”

“Sure. I guess. It was a little bit more adventure than I originally had planed, but hey, else it would have been boring, right?”

Lance nodded. His view wandered over to the defeated commander, and his features grew tense again.

“She threw quite a fight.”

“And I would have continued fighting if you hadn’t hacked my implants.”

“Eh, that was me.” said Springtrap.

“I don’t believe a single word of whatever you try to say. We know that you are but a fraud.”

“Am I now? Well. Care to tell me why exactly?”

“I can’t. All I need to remember is that we have proof.”

Springtrap sighed.

“Oh wow stupid little mortal thing. The world is literally breaking apart, pieces of different realities invade not only our afterlife but the living world as well. You guys can take your proof and shove it where the sun doesn’t shine.”

“I suggest that we finish this all and start to rebuild.” said a person who Springtrap recognizes as Weasel “We have much, much work to do. Taking back the ground we have lost, and move on fighting the horde. But first, we care for our little mole here. We know now that the military is not on our side, so we might as well treat them like an enemy. Unfortunately, we are not allowed to… administer torture. And as long as she is augmented, our methods to erase her memory won’t work. Removing the implants without her agreement is in fact torture. So… you said you have some idea?”

“I have.” answered Springtrap “And I highly doubt that the rules say anything about this. Our main goal is to… turn her harmless, right?”

“Indeed.”

“Good. She won’t be able to tell anything she learned here when she lost her mind, right?”

For once, the usurped commander dropped her haughty smirk. She looked concerned, but only for some seconds.

“Care to tell us what you plan to do, Bunny?” wondered Kitty.

Springtrap just pointed at Lance. Who was already opening the backpack he had brought with him. Out he took… the Black Tome.

“Oh great, you hit me with a plastic brick?” mocked the commander “That’s torture as well. Don’t get me wrong, I would suggest you to just kill me, but oh dear, your stupid rules… The military would have prevented that some liars like these could get in charge.”

“Shut ya trashhole, bitch.” threw Lance back at her “Nobody’s gonna hurt ya. In fact. All I do is holdin’ this here book in front of ya face.”

“And then what?”

Lance just grinned.

And opened the book.

The commander probably tried to response something, but as soon as the book was open, her full attention was drawn towards the pitch black pages.

“Okay, everyone else leaves.” said Springtrap “This will take a while and we should not risk that someone else catches a glimpse of the tome’s contents.”

“What… what will happen to her?” asked Kitty while the agents went over into the room next door.

“Well… the final result will pretty much be the same thing as your methods would produce it. Her memory will be whipped clean. In fact, everything will be… lost.”

“How?”

“You really want to know?”

“… yes?”

“Remember that we always warned you guys not to be around when the book is open?”

“I do. I never questioned this, but now… is it… dangerous?”

“Quite so. The Black Tome is enchanted. It will search the mind of whoever takes a look into it. Originally so that it could show an undead sorceries that would match their personality, and skill. But… I don’t know if the Elder had put this in as some sort of defense, or if it just happens… but when a mortal has the bad luck looking into the tome, the book will… basically show nothing. And everything at the same time. Setting the mind on fire with eldritch knowledge, things that are far, far beyond a mortal’s understanding. When it’s just a second or two, you would end up with a trauma, maybe some light but permanent shifts in your personality. You know, stuff like this. Lance will force her to look at the tome for five full minutes. There will be nothing left of her gray matter but smoldering charcoal.”

People around him stayed silent.

It probably was hard for them to adjust to these things. A book, able to destroy a human’s mind. But then again, they all knew far too well that they long had left reason and logic behind. In the end, it was more important to keep the Agency safe. Whatever the cost.

“So that’s your plan.” mumbled agent Jasmine.

“It was my idea, yes. But Lance is actually doing it because I’m too much of a softy. Surprised?”

“Somewhat. When you said that you have something… I actually thought that you go into her brain and fry the implants. But this...”

“Is not much different from what we usually do to traitors.” reminded Weasel them all “Our methods cut all and every neural connection. Leaving behind a human with the mental capacities of a fetus. We will put her in a sanitary we run especially for those cases. In time she will become someone again, but she will not remember. Bunny is right about the rules. Nothing there says that we may not hold an open book in front of someone’s eyes. The rest is semantics. And now please focus on the things ahead. We have a department to rebuild and a war to win. And we need to figure out how we get the knowledge the military has about our Bunny.”


	9. Chapter 9

**03.01.2021 – The Apprentice** (Project Gaia 9)

 

 

Sand between his toes. Wind? He felt the tingling of his hair all the way down his back. The sky… was black. Stars twinkled. And still, it was light, and warm. A beach. He was standing at a beach, looking into the vast blue of the ocean. Waves gently brushed against the shoreline.

Heartbeat.

Blood moving through his veins. And salty air through his lungs.

He heard people around him. Children’s laughter. Those happy screeches when they tried to run away from the incoming waves. Or when they found a shell.

The sky was endless. As was the sea.

He lowered his view. Right in front of him was a man. Middle aged. Sun tanned skin. Two children at his feet, in the shallow water. Playing.

He knew. For some reason, he knew that he was… old. Very old. This man was his great-great-great-grandson. And the children were his own offspring.

So very old.

And yet, his heart was beating.

The young man turned around, smiling. He waved, to join them in the water.

The sea.

The vast sea. No limits. No borders. Everchanging. Each wave unique. And still, they came and went, reliably. Which made it soothing just to stand here and listen to the crashing of the waves.

The sea.

The sky.

The blackness between the stars. The unknown dark of the deeps.

He was not afraid. He knew. There was hope.

A dream.

Not the first one these days. They came and went like they pleased, each one similar to the last, but all different. Springtrap could not shake off the feeling that something was off with these dreams. There was something to be found in there, but he did not know what to look for. They showed parts of his life. Different lives. Or maybe the future? They were so different from what the blackened corridors showed. So much so that it was almost certain that both were connected somehow. But then again, it was just dreams. Imagination. It was quite possible that his mind made these up just to have a distraction from the cruel reality.

Hope was sparse.

And still, he got up.

It was early in the morning. The family was still asleep. Not the cat though. Meatloaf was rather happy to have company. And much more happy that this company decided to give him some kibble. Springtrap sat some minutes at the kitchen table. Living people probably would have a cup of coffee, and a piece of toast. He had nothing but his pondering mind. If he only knew what his subconsciousness wanted to tell him via these strange dreams. He never had a knack for the ocean, so why was it so omnipresent? And the starry sky…

It was no use breaking his head about this. It would only lead back into depressing thoughts. Which he didn’t need right now. He got dressed, and left the Afton home.

The Agency had lend him a car. A small, black two-seater. Electrical, of course. While the US was still behind international standards, even the last fuelburners had been turned obsolete. What little gas came in during the war was seized by the military and what remained of local governments.

He drove to the labs. By now, he had been stopped two times. Renewing his license was still on his list. At least the picture. The poor officers who had to deal with a bunny robot behind the wheel that claimed to be a person. And had proof.

Most of the damage had been cared for. The late commander had thrown everything she had at the intruding agents. Most things had been damaged, some even destroyed. Experimental weapons, vehicles, even droids. People had been killed. Not those who had the luck to wear one of Springtrap’s suits.

It would take some time for the department to reach its former strength.

He did look like the other scientists in here – hands in the pockets, his eyes staring at the ground, always thinking. If someone greeted him, he looked up, confused, stuttered a response, and went back into his mind. Just the bunny ears were a little bit off, else he would be a perfect match.

He entered the small complex that had been his workplace for the last days. Since the Agency needed more time to get back into business, he had decided to make use of this and try new ways to utilize the blue metal. Or more like, the substance he was able to turn it into. The Agency had uncreatively dubbed this new material s13-A. Unofficially, it was called purple glass. Or bunny glass. When not treated to be flexible, it indeed behaved and felt like glass. Smooth, very smooth. Shiny. Springtrap’s suits had been a success in their first field test, but there still was much to be worked on. They were too skin-tight. The material allowed clean air and moisture to pass, but nothing else. Heat, to some degree, could leave the body, but they needed some active temperature regulation or else the wearer could cool out too much. It was hard to move in them. Without boots on, an agent wearing a suit would not be able to walk, since the material was so slippery that it glide off the ground. This had lead to more than one accident during the takeover of the department. Springtrap had tried to make the glass behave differently, but he could not change it to be less slippery just on the outside. The glove he had made felt like sticking ones hand into something made of sand paper. Additionally, the suits lacked storing space for all the gadgets and weapons. Much work to do, indeed.

Luckily, they left him alone with his experiments. He had some droids to help – and test whatever he came up with – but beside this, people knew better than entering these rooms without a good reason. The fact that the black tome was also stored here helped to keep nosy agents away.

Which, of course, was no use against certain people.

Kitty for example.

She entered the lab, and dropped down at the nearest chair. Waited for Springtrap to notice her. It was her first time visiting him, so she looked around curiously. Keeping order was not something he was good at. All kinds of things littered the place. Weapon experiments piled up on tables, five mannequins with modified suits stood in one corner, makeshift robot frames an other, and almost the entire back of the first shooting range was filled with what Kitty presumed to be a new version of the webworks-device. Or maybe something completely different. And all was made of gently glowing, purple glass.

“You know that it is dangerous in here.” said Springtrap without looking up from the blue-prints he was working on.

“You heard me?”

“No. But between all this sorcerous shit around me, I felt the presence of a mortal.”

She grinned.

“Creepy.”

“Happy New Year, I guess. Enjoyed the holidays?”

“Absolutely not. Normally I would, but after this forced vacation, being idle feels really bad. How about you?”

He put the pen away, took a last look at the blue-print, before crumpling it and throwing it at the growing pile next to the desk.

“It was quite lovely.” he said “Christmas sweaters, carols, eggnog. Well, not that I could drink or eat anything, but it did smell nice. I hoped to see my daughter again this year, but with all that is going on, she is better off on the Moon.”

“And I see you have been busy.”

“Kinda. I try out every stupid idea that hits me. Just to see what I can do and what not. The other guys here call that brainstorming. I call it insanity on the lose, but hey, that’s just me.”

“Any… uh, results?”

“Limited. I can store sorcery within the stuff, but it’s single use only. I made some capsules with Sleepsand to throw at living foes, but else it’s mostly broken stuff. Tried some bullets, but they break the gun. Good thing that it was a droid testing this. Not nice. So I guess I would have to make a gun as well. But that’s beyond me. Well, I did try to copy your electric riffles, but same problem: I need a power source. And I have yet to figure out how to realize this.”

“And what is this?” she pointed at the sprawling mass of cables and chunks in the back.

“Ah, I call it ‘Spire Spyer’. But it does not work.”

“The name or the thing?”

He threw a taunting look at her.

“Well, the _name_ is of course as _brilliant_ as it can be.”

“I doubt this.”

“You have no right to judge me, agent baby cat.”

“Touché.”

“Anyway. What brings you here?”

“Beside visiting you? I like to be around you.”

“I doubt this.”

She stuck out her tongue.

“I check on our team members. High Command is still not sure if we should – and could – go on with our former routine. But I want to make sure that we are ready to go whenever we get the green light.”

“Seems legit. I’m good.”

“Me too. But the rest of the Furries is not. Beetle’s parents moved out of the country, and since she is a minor, she had to follow. Bear is our primary contact to the Canadian government, and Eagle formally requested to be moved on assistant duty to a certain tribe in the Great Plains.”

“And Weasel is the new local commander. So, it’s just us three then?”

“Yes.”

“This is… bad.”

“It’s not the first time this happened. In fact, the alrounder teams regularly break apart since their unique talents are often required elsewhere.”

"Still bad.”

“I agree. That is why I need to check on those who are left. I was told that Lance and Mark moved in here, right?”

“True. Mark wants to continue his training as a nurse. Maybe even more. He might have healing sorcery, but this will only work when he knows what to do. Like, he could maybe ‘heal’ the damage done by a bullet going straight through the lungs, but it would not regrow like it is supposed to be. Uh, at least that is what he said.”

Kitty nodded.

“And you keep yourself entertained here, I see…”

“Kinda. Lance and I are still training sorcery.”

“And?”

Springtrap shrugged. And snapped his fingers.  
A spherical Aegis formed around Kitty. Through the purple ether, she could see Springtrap grin, as he walked over and leaned against the shield.

“We’re getting better.”

“Wow.”

“You say it. I’m still far away from what Lance can do, but hey, better this than nothing at all, right? Still, I’m better at working with the material. My sorcery doesn’t last that long.”

And the Aegis vanished again.

“Working with the material, eh?”

“Yeah. As I said, I try stuff.”

“May I have a look?” she asked, pointing at one pile of dangerous looking objects.

“Uhm… well… yeah. But… be careful. Most of this shit is sharp and pointy and may explode.”

“My favorite things to play with.” responded Kitty with a sly grin.

She got up, walked over to the table, and carefully rummaged through the collection of possibly lethal weapons. Most seemed to be inspired by medieval arms. There was a crossbow, but the material was so stiff that it could not be bend. Several different versions of swords, and knives. One was so sharp that it slowly glided through the table. She decided to not touch it. A whip. Some riffles of different designs. A mass of bullets. Some were glowing, some one fire. Green fire, black, pink. Probably all with nasty side effects. Arrow tips with the same qualities.

“Where do you get these ideas?” asked Kitty.

“Video games. Mostly. Once you realize that you can literally fuck reality, you won’t run out of stupid things to try.”

“I see...”

She picked up something that looked like a bracelet.  
While trying to figure out what it could be, she accidentally pushed a small button, and the bracelet turned into… a full sized riot shield. Clear as glass. Purple glass. And almost without any weight to speak of.  
Kitty was impressed.

“This is brilliant.”

“I tried to compress it even more, but that seems to be the limit. So it’s only good for people who can wear jewelry without looking suspicious.”

“Okay...”

“Which means it’s not really useful."

“Can I keep it anyway?”

“Sure.”

“And what are these small orbs?”

“One-use sorcery. I have Sleepsand, Aegis, light, and some fires here. You throw it like a grenade. It’s not ideal since you have to gather them after a fight or else the material is lost. Additionally, it doesn’t always work as intended. Aegis for example can be dangerous, because it might appear at such a stupid angle that it literally cuts your own head off.”

“Not exactly desirable.”

“Not if you need your head for being alive. I tried something like a wand with similar effect, because it’s easier to aim with these. The Aegis wands are good enough, so the higher-ups already think about supplying field agents with some. The others are not that useful, since you guys have better gadgets that do something similar but are no throw-aways. I’d really like to do more sophisticated stuff, but that’s not possible as long as I have no solution for the fuel problem. For some odd reason, anything made off purple glass has a horrendous need for power, so even when I make something running on electricity, it’s probably still single use. And needs a huge battery. That’s… probably the other reason why I focused on medieval weapons.”

“I understand. And… what this?” she picked up a flat object the size of her hand.

Springtrap looked at it.

“I forgot.” he said “It looks like it could belong to the robots I’m planning to build. I mean, I surely have it written down… somewhere… you know I made probably five hundred different things just the last week so…”

“So it’s easy to lose the track, I got it.”

“Yeah. Some stuff got the green light, so I guess we’ll see more people running around with purple glass stuff. The Aegis wands, as I said. And some sort of battery that is tuned to the specific energy of a specter’s lightning. It’s capable to absorb up to six blasts. And a tool belt that is magnetic without actually being magnetic so you safely can put electronics there.”

“What.”

“I call it kryptomagnetism. Like, it attracts metal, so you could, like, just put your gun there and it stays there if you need your hands free. But it won’t interfere with electronic stuff like a mobile or data storage or a radio and so on.”

“Kryptomagnetism.”

“Yup. I also thought about using this as some sort of emergency armor for people who can’t wear the suits, moles for example. When they get shoot at the bullets will be caught by the magnetic field. But still, powering this is impossible. Who knows, if I actually find a way, maybe I could put this into the hovercrafts you guys came up with. Hm. Now that is quite the idea… I need to write it down.”

And he rushed to his desk to find something to scribble on. Kitty was left alone with all the things Springtrap had produced so far.  
She was not sure if she should be impressed or frightened. In her time, she had met a couple of scientists who came up with gadgets and aids all the time, with the same sort of enthusiasm Springtrap showed, so she should be used to presentations like this one. But still, something felt different. Something that made Kitty strangely relived that Springtrap was on her side. If he wanted to destroy and kill, he would have all the tools needed at his hands.  
She looked at the pile, again. But this time with her expertise for murder tools in charge. A knife so sharp that gravity alone was enough to pull it through a solid steel table? Small capsules that could easily be hidden, to set of a supernatural flame able to eat away all materials within seconds? And kryotpmagnetism? That could technically not only be used to stop metal objects, but also rip them apart like paper, or accelerate projectiles like a Gauss riffle? And all this without caring for natural laws.

Yes, she indeed was happy that Springtrap was on her side. And obviously lacked any destructive motives. He was creative. He just realized the things that were in his head. But he did not utilizes them.

Carefully Kitty picked up the knife. And tried to cut the table itself with it. The blade glided through the steel as if it was clear water.  
She walked over to the desk again, sitting down.

“Could you make me a sheath for this one?”

Springtrap looked up from his paper, watching as she waved the blade around in front of his eyes.

“Huh? Oh. Yeah sure. Give me a moment.”

It indeed took just a moment for him to grab a handful of purple glass, and mold it into a sheath. He even put a hole in there so it could be attached to a gadget-belt.  
Kitty took the sheath, put the knife in, and shoved it into her pocket. Where she already had the riot shield, and a dozen of capsules. She knew that she had to fill a formal request to be equipped with these. But Kitty also knew that it was better to be prepared. And she really liked these new toys. A knife that could cut through solid steel was nothing she could possibly let lie in a pile of experiments.

“I’m happy that you found something you are good at.” said Kitty once Springtrap seemed to be done with his writing.

“I wouldn’t call it ‘good’.” he responded “There are many people far better than me. Half of the guys here for example. If they could use this shit, I bet they would’ve come up with dozens more useful things.”

“Probably. But they can’t, and that’s the thing that matters.”

“Meh.”

“Don’t talk yourself down. You are a bright mind. But you are in no way ‘good to go’.”

He looked up.

“What?”

“Please, I talked to people. You are here ten to fourteen hours per day, every day. I thought… or at least hoped that your brother would be able to ground you at for some days, but it was only Christmas.”

“That’s because he’s not home as well. He works. Like me.”

“You should calm down.”

“There are things that need to be done!”

“I know you. When you drown yourself in work, you try to keep your head busy instead of thinking. Be honest to me. Or else I have to command you to be.”

Springtrap stared at her for a couple of seconds, unsure how to react. He didn’t like that someone was able to read him like that, but then again, Kitty was a well trained agent.  
He sighed.

“I’m just a little exhausted, that’s all.”

“And you try to fix this by overworking yourself?”

“My mind will run havoc anyway, so better let it be productive havoc.”

“And remember to smile.”

Springtrap grimaced.

“Ouch.”

“You deserved this. So. What is up?”

“As I said. This… all… burnt me out a little. The fact that the Agency could kick me out this easily. That a single person’s decisions were enough to… to stop us. I did bad things in my life. Things that I will probably never forgive myself. But… but how many people died because of the commander? Why am I called a criminal, an abuser, a murderer, and she is not? She followed orders. I did too. So, does this mean I am free of all guilt? This is what’s going on in my head. And much more. The time I spend in her brain felt far too much like the time I spend in a walled room. It didn’t feel this bad in the beginning, but… but now I have nightmares. I hadn’t had them for some time. Waking up in a dark room. Dripping water. Digging through my own flesh, ripping it out, more and more and more and more. Piles of bloody flesh. Darkness.”

And the Void.

But Springtrap didn’t dare to say this. For a moment he pondered if telling Kitty about his strange, recurring dreams would be a good idea. But he decided against this. It was just dreams, right? Like the nightmares. Which all had similar shapes since it was the still huge wounds in his mind that produced them.

Kitty grabbed his right hand.

“I am sorry.” she said “I know that we should allow you more time to regenerate. But time is still something we don’t have. Maybe you could see the counselor… oh well.”

“She got killed during the fight, yes. And I don’t feel like going to the prison. In the end, there is nothing that could help me. This is the shit that I carry around with me. This stupid… trauma. I don’t want to be alone.”

“But you isolate yourself in here?”

“Lance is around most of the time. And… the door is not locked. This might sound stupid now, but for me, it’s a huge deal. I could leave if I wanted.” again, he sighed, and retreated his hand “Kitty, listen. I… thanks for being worried about me, but that won’t help me. I know that, sooner or later, we will move on, and I want to use the spare time to find ways to protect you guys. The suits were a good start but I need to do more. Lance is trying to find new sorceries, and I try to build some shit that will save your lives. That’s the most important thing. Secondary, I try to find a way to destroy the spires. I don’t know what they do, but I do want them gone. I just don’t have the time to wait for my insane mind to chill down again. I need to do something. I just have to.”

Kitty sighed. She played with her short hair, and did a couple of spins on the office chair she was sitting in.

“Okay… so you still try to wash the blood off your hands.”

“That’s not-”

“What do you think? How many people have I killed?”

“Criminals. Not people.”

“When things are bad, we shoot first and ask questions later.”

“But not… not innocent children.”

“You know, one of my specialties is sneaking into buildings. It surely would surprise you how cooperative people become when you kidnap their offspring and hold a knife at their neck. Sadly, sometimes they are still stubborn. Bad for the health of their kids.”

“That… that is not true. You did not do this.”

“I did. And I will do it again, should it be necessary. And then again, I grew up on the streets. Not everybody is as noble as Lance. What I want to tell you is, that almost no-one on this planet has a white west. Okay, maybe some natives in a rainforest or so. But else? Europe tries to be all goody goody nowadays, but their living standards still cost human lives in other parts of the world. Is a granny who just wants to eat some bananas guilty because the people who grow these bananas are still treated badly? We found ways to reduce the impact of a single human, but there are still prices to be paid. What I want to tell you is… oh well, let me rephrase it. You committed crimes. Indeed. I know. And let me assure you that I did research to find out if the things you told us, told the police, really are true. And if you might hide some. So, we know what you did. You did it because you more or less were forced to do. Yes. We know. You spend thirty years in something worse than prison. And you try to make up for these things now. I say: this is enough. You should move on.”

“It doesn’t bring back the dead.”

Kitty got up from her chair, leaned on the table to look down at him.

“Nothing does.” she said firmly “Unless you find some new sorcery that resurrects dead people. You have the choice: Move on, or linger around these deeds for an eternity. Because you won’t die, right? Not for good, I mean. Seriously, if I had your conscience, I would threw myself off a cliff because I could not bear the things I did in the name of the Agency. And in the name of my own survival.”

He did not say anything. Just stared at her, his face clearly showing the fight that went on in his head.

“I am not a counselor.” continued Kitty “Teamleaders do get some training, yes, but only so much. Doing bad is part of being alive. One could argue that, those who willingly harm other people are worse, but then again, at least these people know what they did. Others are blissfully ignorant of the consequences of their doing, but does this make them less evil? You did bad. You regretted it the second you did. You still do regret. You learned your lesson. Regardless of what you think or want, you cannot undo the past. And then… I read the protocols you wrote. Both of you. About the things you saw when you went through the black corridors. While I did not understand all you wrote down, the thing I got out of this is, that you could be a far more dangerous person. The things you did in our version of history are without any doubt crimes. Personally I’d say that if you had refused to help that women, you would have become one of her victims. And in the end, she would have continued. You were part of it mainly against your own will, and you paid a price. And should move on.”

“Oh so I should pat my own shoulder because is just was a pawn? You say that I deserve a medal because I could’ve been far more evil?”

“Yes.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“It is not. You know, there are a couple of organizations that really would like to take some agents in. I am one of those agents that do get some offers here and there. I decide to turn them down. Even try to find out who send them so these people might get annihilated. But some offers were really generous. I could become a terrorist. I could sell all information and get lost in the underground of China, Arabia, or other places. The Agency is not omnipotent. I don’t do this because I believe that the work I do here is good. Or at least will become something good. And I decide to do good. I don’t want a medal or something. But sometimes, I… we all need to remember that everything we do is a decision. If we are supposed to pay for the bad ones, then we also need to be praised for the good ones. That’s just how we are. How humans work. If you want a human to do something, either force them, or coax them. The effect of force is rather short lived, and as soon as you take the force away you can be sure that the human will do the opposite of what they did before.”

“I think I missed your point there. You say… I should be happy that I am not as much of an asshole as I could be? Is that what you think?”

“It is. And you should be happy that other people are as well.”

“That. Is. Bullshit.”

“So, being good and nice is worthless?”

“No!”

“See. And that is why we should be grateful for these things. Our society has some standards. Our species, even. While most people will have not a hard time reaching these standards, others have. People like you and me. When the Agency took me in after paying my bail, I had a hard time learning that I could not simply steal what I want or need. And that I am not supposed to kill all those people who might become a threat someday. People like us need to put serious effort into reaching something that is the bare minimum for others. The reasons are irrelevant. The fact that we managed to better ourselves is not. And it should be honored.”

“I can’t believe we’re talking ethics here.”

“Just think about it once you get a spare minute. I would call ‘not murdering people’ a very desirable goal.”

Their talk got cut off.

By Lance.

Who suddenly appeared in the center of the room.

His upper half did, at least.

He was floating some fractions of a seconds midair, before dropping down to the ground.

“Fuckin’ crap!” he mumbled.

Kitty, who had jumped from her chair, needed a moment.

“What on earth...”

“Oh. Hi boss.” said Lance “Don’t mind me. Just tryin’ some stuff. Springles, be a peach and drag me back to my butt.”

“Your wish is my command.” responded Springtrap, and picked up Lance’s torso to carry it next door.

While Springtrap re-attached Lance to his lower body, Kitty sat down again, rubbing her temples.

“I’m too old for this kind of shit...” she mumbled to herself “Giving a lecture about forgiveness and the good of humankind? _Me?_ Maybe I should ask for a position in administration… And miss out all the interesting stuff? Hah. Never.”

Both robots came back into the main lab. Arguing.

“I swear, when you teleport a piece of the floor again I’ll give you the boot.” ranted Springtrap.

“Ya know that I’m not great with numbers, be happy that I didn’t plop out right on your head.”

“Again.”

“Yeah, again.”

“Could I convince the gentlemen to tell me what that was?” interrupted Kitty.

“Shadow sorcery.” was Lance’s answer.

“Ah. I see. Shadow. Sorcery.”

“It’s about location. And translocation.”

“He read this word in the tome.” added Springtrap with a smirk.

“Shaddap. Shadows are everywhere. And they are all the same, not matter where and what. I’m tryin’ to get this Shadowstep workin’, but so far… not really good.”

“The tome explicitly states that almost nobody is able to predict their end point. Why do you even bother to try?”

“Cause I’m not nobody.”

“Izzatafactnow? It’s strange enough that you managed to move to a spot out of sight, Mister Grand Sorcerer. Isn’t that enough to fuel your ego?”

“Nope.”

“Thought so.”

Kitty tried to get more information.

“Please… Shadow sorcery?”

“It is as he said.” explained Springtrap “Shadows are everywhere. Every object casts a shadow, and there is no difference between one and the other. I don’t exactly know why it is this way, but these skills allow undead to change their current location. And yes, we presume that this is what Fazaka uses to keep their Hives staffed. There are no connections between the productions plants and the hives. Shadow sorcery, in form of a permanent gateway, would be the only explanation. That’s why Lance tries to wrap his head around this.”

“With not that much of success.” added Lance.

Kitty rubbed her temples again.

“Oooh… you tell me undead can move through space in a fraction of a second?!”

“Somewhat. Shadowsteps are limited. Some meters, probably. Usually within sight. And one can’t define where they show up again. However, there is also the Shadowgate. A fixed connection between two points. It seems to take some time to create these – and the undead has to be present at both end points – but once a gateway is set up, it allows almost instant travel regardless of distance. Fazaka probably uses these, as I said. We just don’t know how they managed to set up new gateways.”

“Springles, ya sound like a goddamn professor.”

“Not thanks to you, for sure.”

“That was a compliment.”

“Oh. Okay. Thank you. Been reading all kinds of scientific literature lately, it seems to rub off.”

“I am still here.” reminded Kitty the tow “And really would like to know what you are trying here?”

“Mostly I wanna understand how this works.” answered Lance “Cause it may come in handy. Ya know. Should we need to spy on, lets say, a heavily guarded military base that has information about us. Or somethin’ like that.”

“And we may find out a way to disrupt the way the hives get their supply.” added Springtrap.

Kitty just nodded.  
By now she was used that new and strange things showed up now and then. Lance and Springtrap had this special talent to come up with new ideas on a daily basis. But still, it troubled her rational thinking when she had to question basic rules. One of these rules was the physical law that clearly stated that mass could not be transferred instantly, since that would need an infinite amount of energy. And now, she just had witnessed a robot appearing out of nowhere.  
Partially.

“I take it that you have some troubles getting this to work.” she mused.

“Yeah. The tome says that normally the sorcery knows what parts it should move. But we don’t have a body. My first try just moved the spark that is me. Was not nice. Since then I try to move my whole body.”

“Ideally without anything else, like massive pieces of concrete.” added Springtrap.

“Oh bro that only happened once!”

“You buried me alive.”

“Was my third try!”

“It took me two hours to repair my torso.”

“I said that I was sorry!”

“ _After_ you lost your shit laughing at me.”

Lance couldn’t help but grin.

“Oh c’mon. In the end, ya learned how to use telekinesis. Isn’t that somethin’?”

“I’d prefer to train with a pen instead of several dozen kilogram of concrete, thank you very much.”

Kitty just leaned back and enjoyed.

She suddenly realized that she was not getting too old for this job. She just had missed these two dorks.


	10. Chapter 10

**07.01.2021 – Shattered** (Project Gaia 10)

 

 

The roads were still not very good. Bumpy. Perhaps even more so since the ground was frozen. It was chilly in the car. Cold? Yes, it had been some time since Mark had felt cold. Being dead had its advantages. But on the other side, his formerly dead body could have frozen as well. This here produced its own warmth. The uniform he wore was a rather loose fit. He remembered the view of the woman handing him his peacemaker clothes. It had been a mixture of pity and some motherly wish to get him something to eat.

He looked around.

While not exactly in a bad mood, his colleagues didn’t engage in conversation. Most were busy reading through different papers, playing games on their mobiles, or leaning back, eyes closed. Sleep was something not everyone got in copious amounts. Mark took his small notebook out and flipped some pages. He had to start a whole new set of notes. Still, he felt bad thinking about the money he had paid for his medical literature, which was nothing but ashes now. So much money. He had nothing on his name, not a single penny. How would he ever be able to buy new books? Surely, his aunt would not be pleased. She always had taught him to keep some cash hidden. Good thing that she had not witnessed how utterly expensive his anatomical atlas had been. He wondered how the aunt of the real Mark had been. He had been told that she had passed away a year earlier than his own, and that she used to be a rather good cook. His aunt had been anything but this. A person who could have burned water. And her spiritual ways and views were not exactly increasing her skills. He shuddered a little as he remembered her “salads”, made with herbs, gathered by the light of the full moon, and charged using some questionable crystals. As happy as he had been that his aunt could act out her view and beliefs, he had learned early to make his own food.

How strange to think about this. It was three years since her passing. But it felt like it happened in another life. Which was… actually not the wrong way to put it.

The van stopped, and the peacemakers got out. Mark picked up his share of medical supplies and hopped out of the car. He had insisted to carry the heavy equipment like the defibrillator and other technical utilities, since he possessed quite some strength. The time he had spend as a corpse had left him with rather potent telekinetic skills, which came in handy even now as he had working musculature again. He could easily lift stuff that would make the strongest peacemakers stagger. Not that they did mind much. In fact, the people he worked with had been quick to accept his strange quirks. Somehow, it was obvious that these people here were soldiers. Meant to work under most straining circumstances, leaving the questions for others. A skeletal guy who could carry two hundred pounds and was able to make wounds disappear was not enough to make them lose their countenance. Good for him, since Mark didn’t feel like he could explain anything. Mostly because he didn’t know either, but also because he was not that good with words. Not like Springtrap, who always found a way to wrap even otherwordly happenings up in a way that most people would get the idea.

A refugee camp. One of five that had been established around Boston. With the slums slowly being replaced with container settlements, the camps had to move now and then. Sometimes to make room, sometimes because a particular large group of refugees made their way to Boston. By now, it was clear for everyone that both coast were the safest place to retreat to, with the peacemakers coming in from Europe and Great Polynesia. Sure, Canada and the Kingdom offered some protection as well, but both nations were more concerned about securing their borders to keep the robots out.

It was calmer than he would have thought. Not only because the peacemakers had things under control, but also… while it could not be called hope, at least people knew they were safe now.

This would be his workplace for today. The Agency had its own medical wing, and after the assault on the department, there had been work to do. But now there wasn’t anymore. Since he was not really an agent himself, but still somewhat affiliated with GASE, they had offered him to become a ‘code 9’. That agreement between peacemakers and GASE allowed them to put agents in different positions within the peacemaker hierarchy so they could gather experience. Mostly this was combat training, but also medical education. Precisely what he needed. And so he was now filling the role of an Optio, just one rank below the Centurio that led his team of medics that helped out in the camps. He would try his best to help, to heal, and to learn. So far, the doctors who coached him had been pleasantly surprised by Mark’s eagerness.

“Hey… Mark? Mark, is that you?!”

He grimaced ever so slightly, and turned around to see one of the volunteer helpers from around the camp. The old woman looked confused, her eyes wandered up and down.

“I didn’t know that you were a peacemaker...” she mumbled.

“You probably mistake me for someone else.” he responded with a smile.

“How could I forget that voice.”

“With how many new faces you have seen lately, it’s only natural to mix something up. Especially when you look for someone close.”

Luckily, his mentor came along just in time, handing him some papers.

“Optio Pitcher, there’s an emergency amputation happening right now. Make them reconsider.”

Mark was relived to be able to leave this awkward situation. He took the files, and hurried to get to the operation rooms.

So, not even the uniform and haircut were enough to make him appear differently. He knew that this here was the camp where the real Mark resided. And if he knew something about himself, then that would be that he was not able to just sit around doing nothing while people suffered. Of course he would offer his help as a volunteer in the medical tract. Still, it was worrying that it took only five minutes for someone to recognize him. Or maybe he should be proud that the other him had left such a good impression? It was hard to tell.

He was halfway through with putting on sterile clothes when he finally dropped out of this thinking. At little bit surprised how automatized this all was. At least, this way no-one would question his suitability.  
He entered the room, just in time as it seemed. The patient was a young girl, she was still awake, with the anesthetist ready to administer sedatives.  
A quick look was all it needed.  
Half of her sura was ripped in shreds, very much likely by a makeshift explosive that many fleeing people used for self defense. With the Agency idle, the robots had grown far too numerous. The skin was burning red, speaking of heavy infection.  
The operating doctor noticed him entering.

“Salut. We’ll make a clean cut through the femur.” he briefed Mark “Dire sepsis, can’t risk for it to spread.”

“Just treat the sepsis.” answered Mark.

To which the doctor groaned.

“I already explained to Centurio Bjornstad that there’s no chance to save the leg, the wounds are too deep. I’d wish there was, but only treating the sepsis would delay this all for a couple of days, resulting in unnecessary pain.”

“There are no wounds.” answered Mark.

And before the surgeon or someone else could react, he used his sorcery.  
The pale, gentle flames engulfed the kid’s leg. Knitting together severed tissue. As long as it was just simple flesh wounds, Mark’s knowledge was enough to treat it. Damaged organs would be too difficult for the sorcery to heal, since they were far more complex than muscle strands and skin. It took only a moment for the Saintfire to vanish again, leaving a perfectly healthy calf behind.

“What on earth...” tried the surgeon to say, but Mark cut him off.

“You have more patients to care for.” he said “I’d suggest broad-spectrum antibiotic and close observation of oxygen concentration. Drainage and hydrocortisone if needed, but that should not be necessary since there’s no necrotic tissue or wound.”

The doctor needed a moment to process.

“Yes, sir.” he finally said, and turned around to his staff “You heard the man, get her to the intensive care. Thanks god it was a false alarm.”

Mark nodded slightly, and left the room. His rank was high enough to be able to order people around. This way, both he and the medical staff w ere spared the awkward  explanation. Which was one of the reason s that he had been moved to the peacemakers. The Agency’s staff was not easy to shake off. Sure, he was unhappy  about this, since he didn’t feel like he should be in charge. But in the end, it was better this way. Better for the patients. Not to start about the resources saved.  Medical supplies like catheters, sterile tools and coverings, medication and blood packs w ere always a little sparse, even with the rather well organized replenishment the peacemakers were able to maintain.

With the most urgent work done, Mark quickly found someone to  bring him to simple wounds he could treat. Again, the command chain made it easy to get this to work. The nurse leading him around didn’t ask questions. And most of the patients were simply happy that their pain was gone.  He helped people, emptied beds, and allowed the actual doctors to care for more complicated patients. What not to be happy about.

H e was doing his usual as he noticed people around him dropping out of their work to stare at the TV on the wall.

He turned around and watched.

 

 

“Request for all team leaders and special agents to meet at room main-building-29-11 as soon as possible.”

Springtrap cursed.  
With his whole body except the feet in the Spire Spyer, he was lucky to even hear the automated broadcast. Hitting his head as he tried to crawl out of the machine, he let out more curses.

“Seriously?” he asked the speakers hidden in the ceiling “I’m in the middle of something right now.”

Of course, he didn’t get any answer.  
Springtrap sighed, gave the machine a hearty kick, before getting ready to leave the lab.

“I swear if it’s just another how-are-you-doing-you-should-rest-more meeting I’ll start to ignore these calls for good. Main building? Ugh. That’s twenty minutes driving…” he turned around to yell into the large room “Lance! Put some pants on or whatever!”

But Lance did not react.

Springtrap waited another minute, before walking over to the room which Lance used as his sorcery lab.

If someone would think that Springtrap’s half of the complex was chaotic, they would need to refrain from this opinion after seeing Lance’s room. Almost every surface was charred to some degree, as were many of the notes lying around. All kinds of books piled up in the corners, some covered in fireproof blankets. Fairy tales, mostly, but also more scientific literature about physics and psychology. Since sorcery was strongly linked to one’s own mind, you had to know yourself before you could try your hands at some magic. The center of this mess was the black tome. For some reason, it was the first thing to be spotted, regardless of how many other things were in the room. Springtrap didn’t know how far Lance was by now. Not everything worked for him, but this would not stop Lance from trying. Springtrap himself preferred to let Lance figure things out and explain them.

“Dude, we need to move.” said Springtrap.

Still no response.

“Lance? Are you here?”

He looked behind one tower of books. And saw Lance laying on the ground. Worriedly, he knelt next to him, gently shaking the other’s shoulders. He opened one of Lance’s eyes. The orange light was bright and strong, so Lance was not in the Fading Rooms. Just sleeping.

“Oh boy...” said Springtrap with a sigh.

He knew that Lance was a heavy sleeper. Almost nothing could wake him. Only the sound of a crying child had some chances. Which Springtrap didn’t want to produce.

“I’m not carrying you all the way to the car, buddy. But I also don’t want to explain to all the high stakes why you are not coming… You know what. Fine. You always say I should practice more. Eat this.”

And Springtrap wrapped a fraction of his mind around Lance’s body. Tiny, weakly glowing fibers of purple light appeared, almost like strands of a cobweb. The robotic body gently lifted off the ground. Immediately, Lance curled up into a classical fetal sleeping position.

“You could sleep during an earthquake pared with a tsunami, eh?” mumbled Springtrap, then he simply grabbed one of Lance’s antlers, and trailed him through the air and out of the labs.

It was… probably, not the strangest thing people had to watch lately, but still, many heads turned.

He didn’t care.

The call repeated three times, which was rather unusual. And still, Springtrap didn’t hurry. After all, it surely was just one of these meetings where everyone told what they were up to right now. Weasel liked to have things in order. She was strict, yes, but at the same time cared deeply about her staff, and as soon as someone struggled, she divided duties to others.

While still not happy about this interruption, he did enjoy driving through the city. With the traffic rather calm, he could take a look at the area. It had been some time since Project Gaia had moved in. Boston’s shanty towns were shrinking. Sure, the container settlements the Gaia people build were far from luxury. But they were something. It was a rather cold winter. Much snow, biting frost. A container hut offered warmth, clean water, a spot to wash ones clothes, and to store and make food without germs and such. And it showed. The people that had been forgotten had a place to live. And they slowly made their way back into society. They were willing to help, once they had been helped. So many people lend their hands to Project Gaia that things were months ahead of schedule. It was almost as if Boston started to bloom. Humanity awakened after decades of slumber.

“Okay, why do I wake up somewhere else.” asked Lance suddenly.

“Oh boy you really didn’t notice anything?”

“Bro, when I sleep then I SLEEP. Where are we headin’?”

“Main building. Some alarm or so. Don’t know. They precisely asked for ‘special’ agents, which usually means us.”

“And ya dragged me all the way to the car?”

“Let’s say, I’m getting better at telekinesis. Only dropped you once.”

“Really?” asked Lance with genuine impression.

“Yep. I hoped that this would wake you, but...”

“Yeah.”

“How can you sleep so soundly?”

“Once ya had to make it do with three hours per night ya get this skill where ya can sleep anywhere and at any time.” responded Lance with a grin “If it wasn’t for these stupid ocean dreams...”

Springtrap was surprised.

“Wait. Ocean dreams?”

“Yeah, it’s always me at the shore or even on a boat on the sea. I mean I _was_ a boat mechanic, but I’ve never been out in the open, so it’s strange.”

“Is it, like… calling you?”

“Yeah. Strange, I know. Almost every night.”

“Lance, I’m having these as well.”

Now it was Lance’s turn to give Springtrap a startled look.

“What?”

“I thought it was my wish for this all to end, but if you have the very same type of dream then there is something more about this.”

“Ooookay that’s only a tiny bit creepy. Seems like I’m goin’ to look for the Elder this night.”

“I doubt that she has something to tell us about this. I mean, most undead don’t sleep, right?”

“Ya think it’s only undead stuff?”

“We’ll ask Mark. And if he has these as well, then… what exactly do we know about how dreams are connected to the Rooms? I mean I dare to say that there is a connection, because… let’s be frank, as strange as these dreams are, they are peaceful.”

“They sure are.”

“See. And at least for me, they tend to… show me a decent future. Me playing with my great-something-grandchild in the water. I’d call this a nice change given the fact that the black corridors usually show dark and horrible versions of how my life could have been.”

“Ya think someone’s tryin’ to put nice dreams into peoples’ heads?”

“Maybe.” answered Springtrap “But maybe… there might be more. I just remember something Mark said. Maybe there is something… or someone behind the black corridors. And when there is someone doing shit then there might be someone who tries to work against it. So far, we have not met any intelligence within the Rooms. But that doesn’t mean that there can’t be any. And maybe not only the Rooms… there’s still Elsewhere.”

“And an outside world.”

“Hm… true.”

“I mean, Elsewhere is only an idea, a concept, so when we start thinkin’ about that, we could also think about stuff like… dolphins.”

“Dolphins.”

“They dream. They have feelins. Why shouldn’t they have their own Fadin’ Rooms?”

“I think we really should ask the Elder about this. Before we build up wild theories about undead dolphins trying to reach us via the Fading Rooms.”

“Dolphins are cute.”

“They are rapists. They murder for fun.”

“See. Just like us. Cute lil’ fuckers.”

Springtrap sighed, and started to look for a spot to park the car.

Not many people were at the headquarters.

Which meant that it wasn’t a department-wide alarm. That could be both good or bad. However, the meeting room was already rather full once they got there. Springtrap spotted Kitty, Lotus, White Shark, and several other teamleaders, most of them he only knew by name. Also people he thought to be heads of different branches. He recognized the woman that lead the development labs, and the head guy of the outfitters, so he presumed that the other unknown faces were high ranking staff as well.  
He found the seat with his nameplate, and sat down. While some agents were calm, most seemed worried. Did he miss some news?  
The last empty chairs were filling, and once everyone was there, Weasel, now in charge of the Boston department, got up from her seat.

“Glad that all made it.” she started her speech “I’m sure most already know what is going on. For those who don’t, listen: The Octagon has fallen.”

So that was the reason for this meeting.

The weight of this news was almost physical – crushing down on the entire room. Not a single word was spoken. Just frightened stares.

“We knew that the military struggled with keeping their fight up.” continued Weasel “But this we didn’t expect. From what our sleepers within the army were able to tell, the central computer system of the Defense Department had been infected by at least two specters. The Octagon’s defense systems as well, opening up the way for animatronic troops that seemed to come out of nowhere. Within a single hour, the whole building was lost. Hundreds of soldiers, and most of the commanding officials are dead. The Vice President is dead, as well as the Secretary of Defense. We are not sure how much damage the specters were able to do before the local departments cut off their connections to the main grid, but we assume that at least half of them had been disabled. We presume that the remaining parts will try to continue the fight, but thanks to the efforts taken to concentrate the intelligence within the Octagon, the heads of the whole military body are now lost. To sum it up: The US army is technically defeated.”

Weasel waited some moments for everyone to take this in, before she stepped aside to allow an other women to speak.  
Her age was hard to tell, which probably meant that she was heavily augmented. She seemed stern and resolute.

“Good Day, everybody.” she said with a slight Scandinavian accent “I am agent Omega. For those who don’t know: Whenever High Command decides that they need to be involved directly, they appoint an Omega to be their eyes and ears. And this is me. I will offer you a short summary of what High Command has been doing lately, since the… rather unpleasant happenings here in Boston probably left a gap or two when it comes to information. The Global Council has declared that the current crisis has top priority. Both the peacemakers and GASE received full allowance to interfere. Originally, the peacemakers planned to weaken the US troops to force them to comply, while we started to activate the remaining sleepers within the ranks of the army. The exposure of the infiltration of the Boston department had forced High Command to liquidate all tolerated infiltrators, in return, the military did the same, which turned down some of or informants. Those who survived the purge were meant to raise their influence to open up the army for cooperation, as well as to decentralize its internal structures. Needles to say that this attempt was too late. As far as we know, all legally appointed leaders of this nation are dead. Following the treaties that are the foundation of the Global Council, the US is now to be regarded as a nation without government. Since following the usual democratic processes to reform a legit government are not viable right now, the Council members elected by the USA are the current governmental body of this nation.”

She let this sink in for a moment, before continuing.

“So much for the legal stuff. What does this mean? Mainly that we are no longer bound to any conventions between GASE and the USA. Separate agreements between us and single states don’t exist. The Council has declared that our work is as important as the peacemakers’ and what Project Gaia does. Which will give us much needed boost in productivity. Our main target is still unchanged: To find out as much as possible about Fazaka Robotics and whatever might have a connection to it, as well as what happens between our world and the Fading Rooms. High Command starts to draw connections between the sudden appearance of the spires and the rise of Fazaka’s armies. After all, the spires are able to interfere with human life, and interrupting the natural way how a dead person leaves our world. Pretty much the same as Fazaka’s Project Specter. Which brings us back to our most original problem: how did Fazaka manage to create technology that has this much power over life and dead.”

Agent Omega continued to spill insight of how and on what High Command had worked the past weeks. Which was a little bit surprising, since she didn’t make a secret of the amount of indirect and direct force, bribery, internal espionage, and other more or less illegal activities that were executed to get things into motion. She repeated the main goals of the current work, again and again, after which she answered questions the staff might have.

An hour later, most people had left, so Weasel, Kitty, Omega, and both specters, moved into a smaller, more comfortable room.

Omega was eager to get to talk to Springtrap and Lance. She started to get into detail about what High Command and other local departments had found out about the spires. Which was nothing new. They forced people into some sort of trance, and once the spire was finished, it emerged, and killed all the people around it by simply ‘sucking their life force’ out of them. Additionally, everyone who had the bad luck to get near an active spire would suffer a heavy assault on their mental health, usually leading to complete insanity within days.

But something was new.

Springtrap had a hard time believing what the video showed him.

The spire in Byzantium was so far the best researched one. At first, people around it reported about unusual thoughts. Fragments of memories that were not their own. Intense research of the Byzantium department revealed that these foreign fragments were indeed memories of those people initially killed by the spire.

But now this.

Some of the automated remote observations around the spire had picked up movement. The dead bodies still lying around it twitched. Jerked even. An electromagnetic disturbance put the cameras out of order for some time, but once they were back up, they showed…

Horrible things.

A creature, made off human body parts, floating in the air, connected to each other by some blackish gas or misty substance. It aimlessly shambled around the heavily secured area, only some minutes, before – accompanied by another EMP – it dissolved again, leaving only charred corpses and limbs behind.

This was nothing that should be possible.

Three times the video had to run, before Springtrap really was willing to believe it.

Agent Omega sat at his side, calmly waiting for him to process what he just had seen.

“I take it that you are not accustomed to something like this.”

“I do play video games with walking dead in them, yes.” responded Springtrap with some sass “But that something like this happens in real life, that much is new.”

“Bro it just ripped apart the corpses and put em back together with-”

“Sorcery.” completed Springtrap.

“Yeah. Yeah! What the fuckin’ hell is goin’ on?!”

“That is what we would like to know.” said Omega calmly.

Springtrap rubbed his temples, while trying to put his thoughts into some order that would make sense for outsiders.

“Okay… okay, where to start. See, the… the spires work… at least that is what I personally think, they work differently from what nature has created. When a human dies, their soul turns into a ghost. You know how it goes. The spires, they don’t leave behind any ghost. I’ve never seen one emerge, actually, but since this should be counted as unnatural death, there should be ghosts lingering. But there are not.”

“Springles searched for people killed by a spire.” added Lance “He’s good at this. Usually, he finds what he looks for in the Rooms.”

“But there are none. No memories. No pathways that would include being captured and killed by a spire.”

“You tell me these poor souls are erased from the record?”

“Pretty much so, yes. It… should not… well. Okay, usually, when a person dies, they… might lose a part of themselves. The more brutal and painful the death, the more shards they lose. Get it? These pieces stop being part of the person. Okay, they still are connected, and, in fact, for me, it would be easy to put them back where they belong. Which usually allows the ghost to pass on into the Rooms. But if the ghost finds their way own their own, the pieces remain. They slowly fade, but they also may be caught by a living human. They stick like soggy autumn leaves on your boots. This happens more often if they are related to the person. Like, a child is more likely to pick up shards from their parent than from a stranger. Most people are not able to sense these, but if you happen to have a special connection to death, or the Fading Rooms, you might be able to… read the shards. We call these people mediums or so. Fact is, these shards do exist.”

“I see where you try to go there.” said Omega “The happenings around the spire, people suddenly becoming aware of someone’s memories, is not really something that should happen.”

“Unless the spire creates such a special connection to death for all those around it. Well, usual, this happens for people who are somehow involved with an other human’s violent death. But also someone like… well, a priest who uses to do last rites… ah, anyway. That’s not really important. But maybe it is. Give me a second…”

“I know what ya try to tell.” helped Lance out “Maybe there are no ghosts because the spire simply shattered em. When not enough of a person remains, there is nothin’ that could go to the Rooms. But still, there is a person, a will of its own, that is somewhere in the pile of shards.”

“And this might turn into… whatever horrible joke this abomination is.” finished Springtrap.

Agent Omega nodded, while causally looking over her notes.

“I see. A conglomerate of shattered ghosts.”

“So to speak.”

“Is it dangerous?”

“Yes.” answered Springtrap instantly “Very. It can happen that a ghost breaks apart more and more. They turn into a wraith. And wraiths are dangerous. But now we have something close to a wraith, but it also has a body? Made of sorcery? I dare to say that it’ll be able to use sorcery. Ghost are very, VERY good at this, but usually lack the power to do so. Give it power, strip away the personality and clear thoughts by simply shattering the person and mixing the shards all up, and you got what I would call the most dangerous thing ever made. And probably we just found out what the spires are meant for.”

“Worrying. How do we work against it?”

“You can’t. Sorcery doesn’t care for natural laws. It can only be fought by other sorcery. But as long as the spire remains intact, I don’t see anything that could prevent it from simply forging a new thing from the shards it still has. Who knows maybe the pieces are bound to it and return.”

“Destruction aside, could we possibly hold the ground against something like this?”

Springtrap looked at her, up and down.

“No.” he said finally “Not without the help of a sorcerer.”

“Springles, we could-”

“Don’t even think about that, Lance.”

“But… I mean we are three. We could, just a hand full.”

“No.”

“Just enough to give em somethin’ to work with.”

“You heard me the first time. No.”

“People will die.”

“Yes.”

“We need to do this. Can’t hope for other undead to pop up helpin’ defeat these horrors.”

“I won’t give away this shit to anyone. Power corrupts. And this is the last thing we need right now.”

“True. But when it’s only the Agency...”

“They just showed us how easy it is to infiltrate them. Imagine the stupid commander had something like sorcery in her hands.”

“Well...”

“Could I please get an explanation?” asked agent Omega.

“No.”

She stayed silent for a second. Probably listening to whatever High Command put into her head.

“You are hereby ordered to answer.” she said.

Springtrap grimaced.

“We can give a mortal some sorcery.” said Lance on Springtrap's behalf.

“Explain.”

“It’s complicated. Ya know, when ya read fairy tales, there’s always someone who can do shit. This pops up all around the globe. People bein’ able to do stuff they should not. It’s called magic or somethin’ like that. It’s not entirely fantasy.”

“A contract can be made.” said Springtrap suddenly “Between an undead and a mortal. Lance is right, it’s complicated, but in the end, the mortal could get some powers. Could. That is a very big if. It’s easy when the veil is thin. The mortal asks for something, riches, luck, or magic. And if they are able to give the undead what they want… you got the idea. The veil is thick right now. As thick as it can be. One undead would not be enough to make this happen, but three would be.”

“Which we happen to have at our side. So why is it still ‘complicated’?”

“We can’t just willy-nilly ask for shit. The rules are clear. It has to be something we really, really want. And with three undead, it has to be something all three really, really want. Not stuff like ‘world peace’ or some airy shit. Actual things that can and will be given to us. Now you see the problem, right? It’s hard enough to find something a deadless, intensely powerful being would want to have, but to find common ground between three of them is almost impossible. And then again, you’d have to be able to actually pay this. There’s no way around. It has to be something we want, from the bottom of our heart, and you need to pay. In ancient times it was shit like… slaves, political influence, your firstborn, or even your soul. You know, stuff like this. Anyway. Even if we managed to get this working, you guys would need years to be good enough magicians to face something like this collection of floaty body parts. Chances are high that you end up insane before you even reach this point. Magic is not meant for mortals.”

“Understood.” answered agent Omega “High Command understands your worries, but encourages you not to keep silent about things like these in the future. After all, the more we know, the more we can be prepared for.”

“There’s nothing a mortal could do to ‘prepare’ for sorcery. Lady- ugh, High Command even! - it’s not a tool you have, not a weapon that could break. It’s motherfucking magic! I could quadruple the gravity in this room, what the hell would you do about this?”

“Trying to knock you out before you could start to do this.” was the answer.

Springtrap laughed.  
He didn’t do this often, so it was an eerie robotic laugh, that easily chilled not only Lance, but also Kitty and Weasel. Agent Omega, however, didn’t seen to be bothered.

“Oh boy you guys are the greatest.” said Springtrap, whipping imaginary tears out of his eyes “Knocking me out. Hah.”

“There are ways of physiological warfare that-”

“Would end you up fried. I tell you what. Listen closely. There are hundreds of undead. Each one has a different story, different powers, different wants and needs and dreams. But. They all agreed that a conflict between mortals and undead is the most important thing to be prevented. Like ever. Because it would sweep you mortals into the dust bin. There’s nothing you could do. Simply nothing. Even the most dumb undead like me would only need to snap their fingers to kill you. Lance here could take out the entire building within minutes. You can’t kill us. You can’t knock us out. You could not even try to play out one undead against the other, because, simply put, we can’t do anything against each other either. Okay, there are people like me. Who have the rare talent to be anti-sorcerers. But aside these? Nothing you could do.”

But Omega smiled.  
It was almost as creepy as Springtrap's laugh before.

“We know.” she said “But that does not mean that we would not try. In the end, we are all dead. Some sooner, some later. The sun will blow up some day. We could just sit down and wait for the end of times. This will happen anyway. But we are not. We try. We struggle. We find ways and loopholes. You say that we can’t do anything against an undead? That is not true. We could still try to make this undead stand on our side. The best way to protect us from sorcery is to be friends with all undead around the world. This might sound stupid, I know. But it’s nothing impossible.”

“And if there is something that I might add.” interjected Weasel, while she pointed at the screen that showed the abhorrent creature “There’s always something new. Maybe there are ways to go around the rules. The very basic nature of the Agency is, to know, to search, and to find.”

“Cheers to that.” said Springtrap with both thumbs up “That won’t help you just now. We need to take down millions of robots. We need to take down hundreds of spires. We need to find a way to protect our afterlife from breaking apart. Know and search and find as much as you want. I’d say we’re fucked. The army is gone. We are the last thing that stands between the fucking bots and the refugees. What happened to the Octagon could also happen to us. At any given time. Drop your haughty attitude, darlings, you guys just got infiltrated by a stupid soldier.”

“Springles...”

“It’s the truth Lance. If it wasn’t for you and me, they would be dead by know. Kitty and Weasel would have died in Rochester, the robots would have taken Boston, New York, Every-fucking-where.”

“We try to prevent this.” answered Omega.

“Izzatafactnow? Try as you might.”

“You try to prevent this.”

“Yeah. And just look where this got us. I have no freaking idea what this hellish spire shit is meant for. What or who does this fuckery within the Rooms. I have no idea where to start. Where to look for clues. What to do. You guys wonder why I keep tinkering in the basement? Because I have no blazing idea what to do.”

“Calm down, please.”

Springtrap lifted his index finger in front of her eyes, ready to give her another round. Nothing came. He just shook his finger a couple of times, before he crossed his arms and looked out of the window.

“We’re so fucked.” was all he said.

“I put into the records that we still have no solution to the spire problem.” said Omega in a neutral tone “Which leads to the more urging things. High Command thinks that our original approach was good, but since the number of hives has approximately doubled, driving around to take out one hive after the other seems too slow. That is why we will take a different way by targeting the production centers. With the danger of the military out of the way, the fields are open to us.”

“Stupid idea.” responded Weasel “We would need an army alone to get close to a factory.”

“I never said that we would get near to one.”

“Aha. And what else then? Do you plan to build a transmitter strong enough to allow Bunny remote access?”

“We do not need to build one.” responded Omega “Because we happen to know that there already is one.”

“Oh boooooy.” groaned Springtrap “I’d like to encourage High Command to spill the fucking tea.”

“Encouragement received. We know that there is a central broadcast facility somewhere. The very same that was able to connect to all specters, ordering their rise to start. High Command regards it as crucial to pour our resources into locating this facility.”

“Okay. At least you have an idea of a plan.” mumbled Springtrap “This much is true. There’s a signal. It still is online. Lance and I still receive it. But guess what, I already tried to find its source. It doesn’t use any form of telecommunication I’d know of. If it’s not sorcery then it’s eldritch technology. Pretty much the same shit I try my hands on right… oh. Ooooooh I get it.”

“High Command is happy that you do.”

“You want me to build something.”

“Pretty much that, indeed. Additionally, we will look for whatever secret the Military knew about you. If it is true or not doesn’t matter. Their sources are more interesting. Even rumors have their origin, and when we find this, we might get answers.”

“Good. Very good.” agreed Weasel “And on top of this, we will try to find a way to get this contract business working.”

“I told you-”

“I don’t want or need your agreement, Bunny. If there is even the slightest  change of success, we need to try it.” again, she pointed at the shattered ghosts on screen “I  will just cite you: We’re fucked.”

 

 

“Unpleasant.” said Mark.

“I’d like to use some different words, but lets just hop over this.”

“So we can… grant limited access to sorcery? Why didn’t you tell me this?”

“It is more or less a secret. They didn’t tell us either. Not until the big meeting, that is.”

Mark nodded.

It was late in the day, and the three of them were just sitting on the floor of his small room in the Agency’s main building. Discussing about the news, mostly.

“I understand.” said Mark “Sorcery is dangerous.”

“There’s more. Since even the undead don’t know exactly how they are made, they are afraid that giving away magic could help mortals to create more undead.”

“And nobody really wants that.” added Lance.

“Indeed. We three are the first real undead made in a century. There’s one other who has been made in eighteensomething, but beside him and us, nothing happened for whole three centuries. And the majority of undead were happy about this.”

“So there are no potential undead who came in from the black corridors like I did?”

“We don’t know. You are out of sync with us. When not physically around you, nobody is able to sense your existence  unless you start to speak .”

“That’s… bad.”

“And the specters don’t count as real undead. So it’s just us four, plus all those made by the corridors. Anyway. The older undead had decided to keep knowledge about this restricted. In fact, the Elder moved on very thin ice by giving us the tome.”

“If it’s not really allowed, why would she do this then?”

“Cause I’m still handsome on the inside!” boasted Lance with a broad grin.

“Aaaactually because Lance has really much talent, and she was afraid of the accidents that could happen without proper guidance. And yes, maybe she liked the fact that he is not a bad guy after all.”

“And now we are supposed to figure out how we could grant mortals magic. Won’t this upset the undead?”

“No. They told us because they think that the time is right for exceptions. And they seem to trust us. I don’t believe that they would help us, but they won’t stand in the way, at least.  Whatever . I don’t think that we three will  come up with something to ask for as a payment. We are simply too different.”

“And it has to be the same thing?”

“Or three units of said thing. We could ask for a service that equally benefits all of us, or we could ask for something that could be evenly split into three. That alone would be easy, but it has to be ‘our heart’s desire’.”

“Who came up with the rules?”

“The Fading Rooms.” answered Springtrap and Lance simultaneously.

“But… but how does it know if I really want something or not?”

“Just go ahead. Write some shit on it.”

Mark nodded, and filled the blanket on the black page with the word ‘Pineapple’.

It vanished the moment he finished the last letter.

“Rude. I could really go for some pineapple right now.”

“But you know that this would be of little use to us. That alone is enough to make it not ‘your heart’s desire’.”

“I see. Can’t we chose something like… like World Peace?”

Lance grinned at Springtrap.

“Bro ya own me five bucks.”

Springtrap crossed his arms.

“You bet that this would be his very first idea. It’s not. His first thing to come up with was pineapples. So I own you nothing, Lancy-Pancy.”

“Crap.”

“You knew that I would… oh dear. I am easy to read, am I?”

“Ya are, but it’s adorable.”

“Great. Just what I ever wanted to be. Adorable.”

“Better cute than a walkin’ pile of trash, I tell ya.”

“I wouldn’t call the most advanced robotic technology made on earth a ‘pile of trash’.” responded Springtrap with a pout.

“Oh c’mon, ya just say this cause ya build some of it.”

“Exactly.”

“ We are not going to figure this out tonight, are we?” wondered Mark with a sly smile.

“Eh, add a century or two. I mean just look at us three. I’m broken beyond repair and would probably want something like… eternal silence in my head? And Lance could go with quick intercourse with any human who looks halfway attractive.”

“Hey!”

“And you are too innocent to ever want something for yourself, so it would be abstract concepts like happiness for all or such. Which unfortunately is not allowed.”

“Halfway attractive my ass! When was the last time I swooned over someone?!”

Springtrap threw a look at the clock on the wall.

“Precisely one hour and twenty five minutes ago you said that you, and I quote, ‘would not mind a quick hump with that janitor girl if she’s up for of course’, unquote.”

“Tha- that’s not, hey c’mon that’s not the same as ‘really really wantin’ somethin’ to happen’!”

“Is it not? It’s hard to tell these apart when your eyes turn into little hearts.”

“They don’t!”

“Are you sure?”

“My ey- what the heck did ya build into my eyes?!”

Springtrap simply grinned.

“Mark! Mark, did he make my eyes go heart when I’m horny?!”

“I am afraid I don’t spend enough time with you to answer this question.”

“I didn’t do anything, I swear. It was just a figure of speech.”

“I don’t suppose we could write ‘Sex with someone’ on the contract...” wondered Mark.

“Hell no.” was Springtrap’s quick response “I’d rather eat my own feet than having to go through this much pain again.”

“Oh c’mon ya guys I am not that desperate.” said Lance, but just a single second later, his shoulders dropped “Okay okay, I am. I really am. I’m sorry. I mean it. I just… I just wish I had a real body again. That’s all I want. Can’t we write this down?”

“I happen to have one again, sorry.” responded Mark with audible regret.

“And I don’t need a meatsack that only demands, thank you very much.” added Springtrap, who sounded as sorry as Mark.

“But if we wish for Lance to get a new body?”

“That would be a different thing for us.”

“How so?”

“It’s a service for us, but Lance would actually get a thing.  Unless you plan to split his new body into three parts, that is. ”

“Ah, I see.”

“And let’s be honest y’all. Agency’s not able to realize this.” added Lance, shoulders still low “ I’ll need a fuckin’ century to understand all this scientistical shit that I’d need to know to build a workin’ body.”

“Plus we still don’t know how to move back into our corpses.”

“Yeah, that too. I guess this is it, then. Don’t think I really want anythin’ beside a stupid body.”

“I’m sorry that I brought this up.” said Springtrap.

“Nah, it’s fine. I mean, ya right. I really want this. Don’t think that often about it cause it makes me really mad and sad at the same time. Didn’t ask to be moved into this stupid robot suit… Couldn’t he just kill me… but no. He had to make a specter off me. Fuckin’ puppet.”

“Hm… now that we talk about him… I haven’t heard anything about him since we got you out of the Circus show.”

“True. I bet he was in Rochester. I mean, would fit. He probably picked up the hobo and forced him to drive the lot to the factory, where he scavenged for parts. That’s what I told High Command. Don’t know if it’s true.”

“Yes, but what then?”

“Dunno. Dude knows shit about Fazaka. Maybe he found another  robot nest to stay at.”

“Could we take this a payment?”

“What?”

“Finding out where he is? It is a service that would benefit us all. And on top of this, the Agency is actually able to do this by shifting their resources a little.”

“Maybe. I just write it down.”

And Lance scrawled an unreadable line on the blank the tome had produced for them.

It disappeared.

“I’m afraid that’s because of me.” said Mark “I am not provident enough to really want things like these. Not as long more urgent things are on top.”

“Ya care to give an example?”

“Helping refugees.”

“That’s not a service for you.” commented Springtrap “And even if we managed to warp it that you would have less work, it won’t be anything useful to Lance and me.”

“I know...”

Lance sighed.

“Bros, this is hard. I’m not used to thinkin’ this much.”

“Says the one who racks his brain about sorcery on a daily basis.”

“That’s different. I read about it, then I try my hands at it, and if it doesn’t work, then I try to find out how to make it work. Here we don’t even know where to start.”

“Why can’t we just ask for money...” complained Mark “That would be so easy.”

“And then what? I don’t need cash, they pay me.”

“Same here.” agreed Lance.

“Good for you… Oh well, I would not have use for it either. I probably would just give it away… which is not a service for me. I got it.”

“We could ask for promotion.” suggested Springtrap.

“Why should we?”

“It was just an idea. Actually I am not at all willing to make this contract, so it would be better if you two come up with something.”

“Let us maybe sum it up.” suggested Mark “The payment needs to be a thing, or a service, that is equally good and for each of us, or three things that each of us wants. It can’t be a trivial thing, but actually a wish that we have. It needs to be something that is useful for us, and not somebody else, unless helping this someone would somehow still be equally good for us three. Additionally, we should pick something that the recipient would be able to do or give. Ideally without straining them too much, since I guess we need to make more than one contract.”

“And it needs to be something that is actually a loss for the other. They can’t pay us with something they already do or plan to do, and for sure not with something that they won’t miss. I thought about asking for helping us to end this crisis, but that’s what they already do, so it won’t work.”

“How much time would they have to pay? Does it need to be instantly?”

Springtrap shrugged.

“Don’t think so. I read about people giving their souls away, or helping the undead in some decade long schemes. I guess it depends on the actual thing.”

“Okay, hypothetically spoken, what happens when they can’t fulfill their part of the contract?”

“Then they are lost to us. They die, but won’t turn into ghosts. We enslave their souls.”

“What?!”

“That’s true. If they can’t deliver what they promised, it will automatically be their very soul. They will never move into the Fading Rooms, their paths will be erased, and they are doomed to serve us until they fade away.”

“That’s horrible!”

Springtrap simply nodded.

“See. One of the reasons I’m against this all. It’s bad enough that we are trapped here, but I’d never forgive myself forcing someone else to wither away in the living world. With no chance to ever reach whatever awaits them at the end of their paths.”

“And suddenly I don’t want this anymore.” added Mark, looking disgustedly at the black page.

“Yup. So we absolutely have to make sure that they can pay. Which means even less possible things to ask for.”

Lance yawned.

“Tell ya, that’s not happenin’ tonight. I’d rather watch a movie with ya two or somethin’. Contract is not goin’ anywhere.”


	11. Chapter 11

**10.01.2021 – Exorcism** (Project Gaia 11)

 

 

“I’d never thought that my first trip to the Eternal City would be a hunt for some rampaging nightmare.” complained Kitty.

“Uh, wasn’t Rome the ‘Eternal City’ and Byzantium the ‘Everlasting City’?”

“You are right. I always mix these two up. Not that I have been in Rome either.”

“Too bad that we can’t do sightseeing. With all that’s going on back home, I could use something nice to fill my mind with.”

“Bro, if that fucker keeps Shadowpathin’ we’ll see more of this stupid city than we’d like. Ugh! Ya know that shit’s bad when I’m the single one who sounds worried.”

“I am worried as well.” said Mark.

“Yeah, okay, ya have all right to be. But these two bongos always get smartassy when they try to not be nervous.”

“Maybe the Empress gives us a medal when we catch this thing?” wondered Springtrap without being bothered by Lance.

“I won’t say no to that.” answered Kitty “A decoration conferred by the Empress of Byzantium would surely look great in my résumé.”

“Shattered to the west, two roads away from you.” announced the air surveillance via radio.

They started running.

Byzantium sprawled out at both sides of the Bosporus. Luckily, the shattered one stayed around the spire in the poor outskirts of the city’s Asian half. At least for now. It was impossible to say what it was looking for. So far, it wasn’t hostile, but it would enter a Shadowpath once approached, and pop up somewhere else. Which made it hard to get near to it, since the outskirts were a mess of narrow roads and backyards.  
The agents entered the road, and slowed down. Careful, not to startle the abomination that aimlessly moved down the street. Even more abhorrent than the videos showed, the floating mass of mummified body parts hold together by black energy emanated an aura of dread and sorrow. A cacophony of whispering voices, humming lies, secrets, confessions.

It was no use sneaking up to it.  
A dozen withered skulls starred at them, silently observing every of the agents’ movements.  
The second Springtrap tried to use his sorcery, the wailing of the voices turned into a moan, a shriek even, and the monster disappeared yet again.

“Damned beast.” grunted Lance.

“It’s no use.” said Springtrap “This way I won’t get close enough to cast a Reset.”

“So it’s plan B then. We attack it and hope that it will not run away.” concluded Kitty.

“And we hope that we can handle it even when enraged.” added Mark with a worried tone.

“It’s three of us, I say that should be enough to fuckin’ wreck that beast.”

“I would rather say two and a half.” responded Mark “Plus a mass of wood and countless innocent people around us.”

“Just stay sharp and remember what I taught ya.”

They walked back to the mainroad. At least, people obeyed the strict curfew and remained inside. This way, the Agency could easily move through the quarter in their attempt to catch the shattered one. The original plan had been to get Springtrap close enough so he could try to undo the sorcery that kept the thing running. Unfortunately, it was rather skittish and thanks to its Shadowpaths quite mobile. Unlike the Shadowstep, which allowed instant but limited moves that could hardly be controlled, a Shadowpath had a wider range and controlled exit point, at the cost of time. It was not clear where the caster remained between entering and exiting the path.

Which meant the agents had to wait until the drones in the air picked up the shattered again.

“Okay, just to make it clear again.” started Kitty “I’d rather not directly attack it, since we have zero clue what it can do. But since it keeps running, we have no choice. Lance will try to use his fire skills, I will shoot at it, and Mark stays ready to call up an Aegis, should we need one. Springy will try to undo it, and should this not work, then-”

“I’ll try to burn the soul shards away with a Light of Woe.”

“Indeed. Let’s just hope that this thing is not full of surprises.”

“Oh, I won’t mind. After all, I have my own...” answered Springtrap with an ominous tone in his voice.

“Shattered to the north, five roads away from you.” transmitted the surveillance.

Again they rushed forth.

Making their way through the small roads between ancient houses.

Lance was the first one to enter the alley, promptly firing at the shattered one.

The Banefire stored in his arrows was blown away like dust in the wind, but the projectile itself pierced through whatever invisible protection the creature had, hitting parts of an arm. Which turned orange instantly, and fell to the ground.

The monster shrieked.

Just to be hit by lightning.

And enchanted bullets.

The shriek turned into a roar.

“Need to get closer!” shouted Springtrap in order to be heard.

“Then move!” yelled Kitty back.

A dozen rotten arms rose high into the air, and swept down.

Gusts of black mist swirled towards the agents. As soon as it hit the three undead, it lighted up in their respective color. And faded.

Kitty, luckily, wore a suit made of purple glass, so the same happened to her. The black nebula turned purple, and vanished.

Good for her.

Because the cobblestones and walls and windows hit by the fog were warped. Stone turned into black metal, glass into teal glowing crystal. Everything that was not extremely close to the agents’ bodies was warped.

Again, a roar, and the shattered ripped out a chunk of corrupted metal, and hurled it at its opponents.

A thunderous crack echoed through the alleyway as the unearthly metal hit a skyblue Aegis.

As soon as the protective light appeared, it was gone again.

Colors bright and true, edges sharp and bold, the Reset enforced the rules of the real world.

But it did nothing to the gathering of dead bodies.

While the shattered one was temporarily unable to use its own powers, that surely would not last forever.

“Fail.” said Springtrap through clenched jaws.

A fraction of dullness seeped back into the world, and the abomination started its next round of attack.

Which crashed against a purple Aegis.

“You three move back.” ordered Springtrap sharply “To the mainroad!”

“But-”

“No buts Kitty, move your soul away from me or it’ll burn!”

Lance pulled Kitty backwards. While she didn’t seem to be happy leaving a fellow agent on his own, she did not refuse again.

They hurried to move out, and Mark called up a shield to seal the road off.

“Will this work?” asked Kitty, between heavy breaths.

“Dunno. It’s very dangerous. We never dared to try it.”

“What exactly does it do?”

“Breaks the essence of a ghost down and funnels it into the Rooms. I have no clue if it’s okay to say ghost. As long as it’s bound to a body, it’s a soul, but ghost means it’s unbound and ready to move on… Light of Woe’s one of the few sorceries that affect ghosts and the livin’. I don’t know anythin’ else. Is a Higher Eldritch skill. Only Springles can do them.”

Kitty nodded.

But before she could get her breath to return to normal, the very ground started to rumble.

A cacophony of voices boomed through the air – screams, roars, shouts, yells, cries, screeches.

Walls cracked, windows shattered, and Springtrap was catapulted out of the narrow road like a bullet. He broke through Mark’s Aegis, and smashed into the wall at the other side of the main road.

The shattered one, however, rose up. Like an Asian dragon, made of black light and corpses, it noodled its way into the sky high above Byzantium.

The whole firmament turned black. Then white. Then it settled into a weak, gray glow. The outlines of doorways and pillars and walls shimmered through the silvery mists.

Every human, living or undead, would see this. Even if they were not looking at the sky. Even if they were indoors. The mirage touched not the eyes, but the soul.

Seven seconds it lasted.

Then it faded, leaving circles of clouds behind, centered around the point where the shattered one had vanished.

Mark was the first one to come back to his senses. The small man hurried to get on his feet, rushing over to where Springtrap had crashed into a building, and starting to clear the rubble.  
Some moments later, Lance joined, then Kitty. Broken bricks, crumbled plaster, splintered wood.  
Screaming people, fleeing from their homes. Sirens.

And above all, an unspeakable dread lingered.

It took minutes to get through to Springtrap. His metal limbs were dented, his torso crushed in, but he seemed to be awake.

“Springles bro are you what on earth happened!?” bubbled Lance once Springtrap’s deformed head was free of rubble.

“Ugh… he… didn’t like what I did.” said Springtrap, unable to properly move his jaw “On the bright side, I finally know what the meaning of this all is.”

With a yank, Lance pulled him out of the remaining rubble. But the damage was great, Springtrap could not stand on his own.

“Is it gone?” dared Kitty to ask.

“Yes.” answered Springtrap “But not because I destroyed it. More like, it did what it was meant for. Which would be-”

“Later.” she ordered “We gotta get you out of here. Oh why didn’t I bring a robotics specialist… I could have thought about something like this.”

“You brought one.” said Springtrap in return “I only need someone to repair my left arm, I’ll do the rest myself. Guys. Guys, you can’t imagine how happy I am that I don’t feel pain. Like, I really, really know that I should scream and cry in pain right now. Maybe that’ll come later. God I’m tired.”

Together, they carried him away. Around them, a collective meltdown happened. Police and firefighters moved in, panicking people talked and shouted in Greek.

If anyone still had doubted the urgency – and danger – of the ongoing crisis, at least the people of Byzantium now had proof. Proof that the Fading Rooms existed. Proof that something tried to damage them.

 

 

“It’s the Veil. You all had a nice good look at the Veil. Not even we can see it from this side, so I would call this odd and new. And before you ask, yes, that precisely was the goal of the shattered. I still don’t exactly know how this all works. You guys always say that I am oh so good understanding this strange technology, but truth is, I still need to look at it, take it apart, study it. Since neither the spires nor the shattered are up for closer inspection, I simply have nothing to work with. But, and that’s the thing, I am sure to know the ultimate goal: The spires try to tear down the Veil.”

“And… what exactly would this do?” asked Omega with only so much of a hint of worry.

“You mean beside flooding reality with the memories of billions of deceased people and probably turning every living being on this rock insane?”

“Yes?”

“Well… I do remember the message the black corridors send to us. Combined with what I just learned, I dare to say that… listen, nobody really knows how the Fading Rooms work. Nobody knows where they came from, why they are there, and surely not what our world would look like if they weren’t. The spire shatters people to turn them into a large mass of pure will and force. The very substance of dozens of human lives, concentrated into a single… thing. A bullet. The pieces are so small that it is no longer possible to say which fragment belongs to whom. It’s basically… the people are basically erased. The borders between different people vanished. All are one. There’s no longer a you and me. It’s all we. Interestingly, this is precisely what happens in the Fading Rooms. When ghosts are done with their pathways, their memories will slowly become part of the vast libraries of thoughts. Everything that a human ever thought, said, did, saw, smelled, heard, and-so-on is stored there. Should the Veil stop working… this all will crash down on us. There are so much more people dead than there are alive. We would drown in other peoples’ thoughts. We will lose ourselves. We will become a large, very large… thing. The Void will come. And we will be Void.”

“How can a large number of thoughts become a ‘void’?”

“Darling. Just stop using your head. If I showed you a grain of sand, then you would clearly be able to describe this single piece. Maybe you’d need some tools, but you could tell the color, the weight, the form, the internal compositions and maybe even the age and origin of this single piece. And now imagine a fucking desert. The properties of a single piece of quartz simply don’t affect the desert. See, we even have a new word for a very large mass of sand. We don’t say the exact number of grains that make up the Sahara, we simply call it by its name.”

“Yes, but a void is-”

“Empty. Void has no shape, no form, no use, no energy, no momentum, there’s nothing in there. It’s a perfect vacuum. Just like a very large number of sand grains make up a desert. There’s no longer any difference between the single grains. It’s all one. An endless sea of sand. Give or take a grain, it doesn’t matter. If all humans that live and ever have lived merge, there’s no shape, no form, no use, no energy, no momentum left. It will be anything, and nothing and the same time. Zero equals Infinity.”

“That is absurd.”

“Yes. As absurd as everything that happened lately. Just think about it. What makes you human are your talents. Flaws. Your quirks and likes and dislikes, your interests and love. Ideas, dreams. These allow you to be yourself. When you stop being yourself, then you stop to be at all. Because there is nobody left that is you. When humanity turns into a huge mess of tiny little fragments, we will stop to exist. Even we undead. Everything will be the same. An endless thought, revolving around itself, without ever achieving something.”

Agent Omega still wasn’t convinced. But she didn’t come up with something new to ask.  
Nobody did.  
People stayed silent. The screens at the walls showed different versions of the whole fight. The Veil was not visible on the tapes, but still, people could sense it. Somehow.

The combat droid Springtrap resided it produced a sigh.

“Listen, this is just what I got out of this all.” he continued “It’s pieces of a puzzle, and I slowly put them together. You don’t need to understand it. Maybe it’s even beyond understanding. The single thing that you- than we all need to know is: We don’t want this to happen.”

“And what exactly has this to do with Fazaka?” wondered Kitty.

“I’m not exactly sure yet. If I had to guess, I would say… either Fazaka’s tech is somewhat of a prototype, or… well, or they are simply meant as distraction.”

“You are kidding.”

“Nope. See, when the whole Freddy’s thing started, the USA were in fact the powerhouse of the planet. Keep them busy, and you keep the whole world busy. Surely they would demand everyone to help them fighting this intern crisis. But things changed. The commis knocked each other out, Europe finally put their intern struggle aside to form a Federation. Hawaii is the most developed nation on earth. Africa’s peoples joined a stable union. And the Council is also a thing. Imagine a world where GASE does not exists. Where the peacemakers don’t exist. Sure, the robots still are good at bringing the US down, but there’s others. Enough is left to keep on going. We are here. We try to find a solution, despite the fact that the US is basically defeated.”

“I try to summarize what you told me.” said Omega “The spires create some sort of projectile, made off human souls that are shattered beyond recognition. These projectiles are meant to damage the border between the living world and the Fading Rooms, which act as a mass storage for human memories. We assume that the ultimate consequence of this scenario would be the end of humanity as a species of thinking, feeling beings.”

“You got is, sweetcakes. When you put grapes into a blender and push the button, there’s nothing left of the grapes, there are no longer any grapes, but something new. It might be made off the same stuff as the grapes are, but their very nature as grapes changed. They stopped being grapes in the sense of the word. Okay, you could argue that this all could be seen as some kind of… ascent. Humanity would turn into something bigger, sure. But just imagine a room with billions of people, and they are meant to form a single sentence that they all are happy with. I personally don’t want this. I might not be the most greatest fellow ever, but I sure do prefer to be me. And not grape juice.”

“Zero is the absence of any definition and variables.” said Omega “It is, in its very self, the polar opposite of infinity, which is defined as the complete lack of absence. You can’t simply put two things together that reject each other.”

“Darling. Honey. Precious. Since when do I say these things? Ugh… Listen here. This is not mathematics. Okay it was my bad to use mathematical terms to begin with… but just see it like this: Zero is without any trait. To define zero, you literally have to list all these things that it is _not_. Which will lead you back to infinity. Zero is infinity, just backwards.”

“That is not true.”

Springtrap stayed silent for a short time, thinking about what to respond. He didn’t intent to let this turn into a philosophical debate – mostly since he thought himself too stupid to actually partake in one – but he still wanted to make a point.

“Hey Kitty, could you hand me one of the orbs you had snuck out of my lab thinking that I wouldn’t notice?”

Kitty didn’t even try to deny this. She simply produced the object in question, and gave it to Springtrap.  
He nodded as a thanks, and quickly removed the sorcery stored within the small sphere. Then, he did what he always tried to avoid to do.

Breaking reality.

“Here.” he finally said as he put the transformed thing into Omega’s hand “A three sided cube. It’s physically impossible, but tell you what, I don’t give a damn.”

It was the first time that agent Omega truly showed concern. Her fingers glided over the tiny thing, as if to make sure that her eyes weren’t fooling her. She turned it around, squinted her eyes, closed them to feel the cube without visual input. The longer she tried, the more feverishly became her movements.

But still, it was as Springtrap said. A geometrical body with straight edges, and even boundaries, and still it only had three sides.

“How is this possible?!” she almost cried.

“It doesn’t need to be possible, as long as I can think of it, the eldritch powers of the Fading Rooms will make it real. Maybe you understand now why it would be our end when the Veil breaks. Things like these would come as well.”

Omega produced a weak whining sound, before finally tossing the cube away. Then she pressed her hand on her temples.

“I think ya broke her.” commented Lance.

“Good. We don’t need someone as an Omega who can’t wrap their head around the eldritch.” said Kitty without any pity.

“How can you keep sane?” mumbled Omega.

“I’ve been around these things for two years now. Once you stop asking the wrong kind of questions, it is easy to just go on. And seriously, you tried to win a discourse with an undead, using logical points. I’d knew better than trying to extinguish the sun with a water gun.”

“But what should I do instead?”

“Put some shades on, get the sun block with the highest protection, and go on with the usual.”

“I… I need some rest. For now, you will speak on our behalf.”

“As you wish.”

“Ugh… please remember that it is Her Imperial Majesty, Empress Eudokia the Third of Byzantium, and not some common women from the streets. That’s especially true for you two.” and Omega pointed at Springtrap and Lance.

“Honestly, I couldn’t care less.” said Lance “Congrats that she had the luck to be born into a special bed. I didn’t, still she’s made off flesh and bones like… like I used to be.”

“Ooooh I’m having a code seventy five exception...” murmured Omega, and the very same second she slumped down.

Kitty had a hard time deciding if she should be amused or worried. While she was trained to handle talks with politicians, it wasn’t exactly her favorite thing to do. And as long as someone like Lance was around, it was additionally hard to keep things nice and smooth.

“Say, aren’t we… you know. Going to pick her up?” wondered Springtrap.

The three of them looked at the unconscious Omega on the ground.

“I don’t like her.” mumbled Lance “I mean sure she has to stick to protocol, but seriously what the fuck did she expect when she came here? That shit will be nice and simple, lollipops and lemondrops? High Command could’ve picked someone better.”

“Maybe she is the best they have.” commented Kitty “Borderline insanity is not really something the Agency wants in high ranking staff, they are not used to work under conditions like these.”

“But ya are?”

“We are a team.” she answered firmly “I know which things I leave for you two, and what I take care of myself. Higher ranks are used to put any given information into their head at try to come up with a solution. Which is definitely something you should avoid when these information have the potential to drive you mad. This I learned in the time I spend with you.”

“Uh, speaking of team… where’s Mark?” wondered Springtrap.

“He said he wanted to check if the medics need help with the citizens.”

“Sounds like him.”

“Anyway, we still have some time before Her Majesty will see us. I’d like to put up some rules. Keep the swears out. Yes, even fuck and shit. I know that you use these as part of your everyday language, but this here is not an everyday situation. Lance, you’ll only talk when directly addressed.”

“Hey!”

“No. I am not happy to talk with a monarch, but it is as it is, we need allies and the European Federation is still the biggest one. We don’t want to stomp of the feet of one of their greatest leaders. That’s that. Springy, try to break it down so that an idiot could understand what you try to say. Keep the esoteric pictures at a minimum. And facts about the dead and whatnot. Try not to describe things. I know that you like this, and I know that these are usually very close to the bloody, horrid reality.”

“Aye aye ma’am. And you try to be not too diplomatic.”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t lie to her. The spire is still active, it can and probably will make another shattered one. Even if not, a new spire might appear at any given time. Mostly where many people live in cramped conditions. The shattered one possibly tried to find more shards before launching itself at the Veil, and you find pieces where many people live and where violence and misery are the usual. You know. Slums. So far, the single thing that politics could do is firmly observe any strange thing happening, and instantly putting walls around any spire in the making. They need to remove all people around it, maybe even with force, with robots even. I don’t know much about Europe, but I do remember that Byzantium is a monarchy, and the Empress and her Senate decide what happens. So, make her fear the spires.”

Kitty thought a moment about this, but in the end, she nodded.

“Okay. Once we are done with this, we will grab Mark and fly back to Boston.”

 

 

Some buildings were beyond repair. While even the poor parts of Byzantium were rather well cared for, the violent force of the shattered one’s response had been enough to bring the ancient structures down. The fact that the direct vicinity had been turned into veil-touched materials like blackish metal and glowing crystal pieces wasn’t helping. The local agents had started cleaning. Any strange substance was simply put into a container, body parts were recovered, before the more mundane rebuild could start. Luckily, nobody died. Some had been bruised by rubble or clutter flying around, but it seemed that most of the raw power had been aimed at Springtrap. Still, citizens were afraid. They had been before, but since the shattered one had started to walk around, it had gotten worse. That was the reason why this hunt had been initiated this quickly. Springtrap had planned to observe the shattered one, hoping to find something out about it or the spires.

Mark was rather happy that he could blend in this easily. While he was unable to understand what the byzantine agents said to each other, or the question they asked the citizens, he still made sure to drop by here and there to check if someone was hurt and if he could help. The others would start the diplomatic part of their work, which he was not allowed to partake in, since, still, he was not an agent himself. He just wore the respective suit.

But then again, that was not even his real reason for leaving them. Of course he had listened. Whenever Springtrap talked to himself, or had a discourse with Lance, Kitty, other scientists. Mark was small, Mark kept to himself, Mark was silent. Often enough people didn’t notice him. Which he was fine with. But since he had become an almost-agent, he couldn’t help but notice that these properties allowed him to gain information that people maybe didn’t want him to have.

For example Springtrap’s theory that each spire was created when a foreign undead forced its way into reality.

The spires had a connection to the black corridors. After all, undead were pulled into these when they got near to one. Springtrap had pondered if the corridors precisely introduced alternate histories were people turned into undead, which in turn were used as a gateway for the spires. If that was true, then undead from different realities could be the key to this whole riddle.

Mark had no memories that would allow any guess about his involvement with the black corridors. For him, time had been without much of a dent. Sure, the month between his actual death and recovery was gone, but he could not remember going through the Rooms. But indeed, his hometown had a spire. That even had been active by the time he had been found. He couldn’t get rid of the idea that he, maybe, had been the reason for so many peoples’ death. It troubled him. He knew how heavy guilt weighed on one’s soul, given the fact that Springtrap was dragged into self-hate circles ever so often. Saying that he was sorry, that he couldn’t save them. Mark didn’t really want this for himself.

After he had made sure that the remaining victims of the shattered one’s attack had been cared for, he causally asked one of the byzantine agents where the spire was to be found. Still busy getting things back into order, they told him. And so he went there.

The area was heavily secured. Large metal walls had been erected around it, buildings evacuated and partially bricked to prevent anyone to get close to it. Since it induced insanity. At least in mortals.  
Mark found the security locks unguarded. Probably because all available agents had been moved to aid the hunt. He used the card the Agency had given to him, and was granted access.

A single time he looked around, biting his lower lip while pondering if he really should or not.

But then again. He had nothing to lose.

Behind the walls, the area seemed pleasantly normal. Compared to the battle side, at least. There were no warped materials.

Only corpses.

Some were not that old. Probably people who had found a way to break into the secured area. Some investigative journalists maybe. Since the very beginning of the whole crisis, one conspiracy was close on the other’s heels.

The closer he got to the spires location, the older the remains became.

He was quaking with fear.

The videos had clearly shown it. Even the bodies not used to create the shattered one were… moving. While not walking upright, they crawled around. He only could hope that since the shattered one was gone, the influence on the remains would be as well.

But then again, what was there to fear? He already was undead.

But somehow, this was not enough to sooth his nerves.

Springtrap and Lance both had described their sensations of the spires, and the black corridors. Apparently, a line of sight was necessary for its most dreadful effects to manifest.  
Mark didn’t know what to expect. Maybe he would be drawn into the corridors as well. But what would he see? He already was an alternative version of a real person’s life. And frankly, not a nice one.  
Maybe the spire would put him back to where he belonged.  
Would that end his existence? Probably. Would he want this? Probably not. But he could not really claim that him being around was right.

Once he saw the first shine of teal light, he stopped. Thinking.

If he would vanish, would someone miss him?

There were still things to do. People to heal. He had a rare talent, he should put it to use.

Put what was not right was not right. Since he had learned that he was just a mere copy, an error, a flaw in the system, he had felt uneasy. Not part of this world. There was nothing left. Springtrap and Lance tried to be nice, but still… he had no right to be here.

And so he stepped at the plaza that housed the spire.

He did not vanish.

Nor was he pulled into a nightmarish sideshow.

If anything, he was momentarily blinded by the bright light.

Mark needed a moment to gather himself. Knees shaking, and his hands clutched at the straps of his agency backpack, he moved along. Careful not to step on the corpses. Which wasn’t that easy, since they piled up all around the spire.  
Strange.  
Not even flies dared to come close it, as it seemed. The bodies were simply dried up.

The closer he got, the more intimidating the spire became. Its base was a massive piece of dark metal, approximately five meters around and seven high, adorned with teal glowing stripes of strange symbols. Or at least they appeared to be. Maybe it was a random pattern of lines, who knew. Above that base, chunks and smaller pieces floated in the air, slowly rotating around an invisible central axis. How high the entire thing reached was hard to tell, but it appeared to be twice as tall as the surrounding buildings.

Mark stopped.

His heart was pounding like mad.

One last time he turned around, thinking.

One last time, he said to himself, that he had nothing to lose, that his very existence in this world was wrong. And he had always been taught to put right what was wrong.

He touched the spire.

And the whole ancient city of Byzantium could hear the blast.


	12. Chapter 12

**11.01.2021 – Fire and Faith** (Project Gaia 12)

 

 

“You will not let me go anytime soon, right?” asked Mark.

“The hell I will, bro. In fact I will get me one of these baby carriers and drag ya around for the rest of ya life.”

“Alright, I think I deserve this.”

“Yes. Just lemme repeat it: Ya are good and needed and valid and have all fuckin’ right to exist. By the way, that also counts for ya, Springles!”

“Received.” answered Springtrap from the room next door.

“Ugh maybe I’ll get two carriers. One for the back as well. Too bad I sold the one I had for my kids.”

“You are only six years older than me and still you sound pretty much like a dad right now.”

“Well I got that ya two have trouble carin’ for yaself so I’ll do it. Springles has his excuse with all his mental shit, but ya are simply actin’ blue.”

“Putting myself low?”

“Ambition. Blues always see the Bigger Picture and would do everythin’ to reach what they think to be right and good for everyone. That can be nice, but ya not, like, automatically know what is really good. Ya just lost an arm cause ya thought the world would be better without ya. That’s so blue.”

“But the spire is dormant again.”

“Ya lost ya fuckin’ arm.”

“Yes but-”

“That hellish crapshit burned ya arm away and charred like most of the rest of ya and ya still think this was a great idea. I don’t care if the spire sleeps again, it prolly will get active soon, so what have ya won? Don’t do that. I’m serious, don’t. We’re family for fucks sake.”

“Family…?”

“Yes. Family. I adopted ya two. So, open ya mouth when somethin’ is botherin’ ya. A hug can always help, even if it’s just a possessed robot huggin’ ya.”

“I am afraid you will have to fight Mr. Afton if you want to adopt Springtrap.”

Lance shuddered.

“Crap. There’s no way to win that.”

“You could surely agree on mothering me in shifts.” said Springtrap.

“Better shaddap Springles, I will!”

“I’m sure you would.” answered Springtrap as he entered the room “But that aside, I think I did all I can possibly do here, so I’m ready to move back to Boston.”

“Anythin’ good?”

“Hard to say. Mark’s gambling left the spire somewhat changed, but did not destroy it. For now, I think it is hibernating, maybe to gather power for a second attack on the Veil. Which is still paper-thin here, so whatever you did could not reverse the spire’s effect.”

“See, told ya it was not worth losin’ an arm for.” ranted Lance while hugging Mark a little bit tighter.

“I won’t say this.” disagreed Springtrap “The spire now has a significant energy pattern that goes up and down within it and probably interferes with the spire’s intern functions. When I compare it to the electromagnetic pulse that the shattered one created, I might be able to reproduce this effect once I’m back in my lab. With some luck I maybe can build something that could disable any spire from a safe distance. And hopefully without knocking out every electronic device in a two kilometer radius. If this is possible, we could create an automated system that keeps the spires inactive. This would allow us more time to find the root of this.”

“So, in the end, I did help.”

“Yes but don’t you dare to do this ever again without saying a single word. I could’ve used the opportunity to make precise scans. And maybe I could have given you something to prevent damage. I understand what went through your head, but please, Lance is right. Talk to us instead of doing something dangerous. It’s my fault that I did not think that this all could be too much for you. Nobody would like to learn what you had to learn about yourself. I am sorry. Just… just try to share your thoughts in the future. We’re here, we’ll try to help.”

“Oh good. Two dads.” responded Mark with a sly grin.

“And a mom.” added Kitty who just entered the room.

“Perfectly scripted entrance.” commented Springtrap.

“Of course. I just hope that my random addition does not create something weird.”

“Nah, we just told Mark that we’re his new family from now on to eternity.”

Kitty nodded.

“Good. I won’t be around that long but still. We are short on hands already, so don’t put yourself at risk when not absolutely necessary.”

“Got it.” said Mark.

“No you don’t. I know people like you. Do-gooders. I admire your willpower but still would like to put a leash around you. How are you doing?”

“I’m fine.”

“I did not ask for pleasantries, I want an anamnesis.”

Mark sighed.

“Grabbing me by my work ethic? Fine. Several burns all over the right half of the body, reaching from degree one to four. They are already healing at a greatly accelerated rate, except for tissue that is completely lost. The right forearm turned into ash on spot, the humerus was hollowed by the heat and had to be removed entirely. The wounds are also in the process of healing, probably two weeks ahead. In fact, the cuts healed several times during the amputation, which caused trouble. Medication for handling the lost parts and maybe phantom pain. Unfortunately, my healing sorcery does not affect undead bodies, so I have to rely on whatever natural capabilities my body has. The arm is gone for good. Since I lack any and all understanding of this shaping and bending, it will take several decades for me to learn how to grow a new one. As for my mind… I… I am in the process of understanding that what I did was stupid, even if parts of myself say otherwise. I am not used to this.”

Kitty nodded.

“We will finally take you in. Officially, I mean. High Command had been afraid that involving you could help the enemy, whoever this is, but right now, enough people talk back at them so they had to reconsider. You have shown that you are more than capable, which also means that you could be dangerous if left unsupervised. When we are back in Boston, I’ll see to it that you get a talk with a counselor. Anyway, I am relived that you are not gone. And that you only lost an arm and not more.” she nodded again, and turned towards Springtrap “Now. Back to business. Finish whatever research you have going on so we can move back home. I just have been informed that our scouts found something while poking around in the Octagon’s ruins.”

“Something?” asked Springtrap, and would have done so with a raised brow, but the droid he controlled didn’t sport any facial features.

“Something. Most of the infrastructure did not survive Fazaka’s assault, but paper did. The scouts found out that there seems to be a place that holds information. About you.”

“Oh great.”

“I don’t know anything right now but it seems that the military had information about your former life that don’t match our records. Since I don’t think that you have something to hide, I prevented your arrest.”

“Thank you?”

“You’re welcome. But let us be honest here: My favor is pricey, you better be very open for questions.”

“I’ve always been and don’t plan to change anything about this. After all, I want to get this all solved as much as you guys want.”

“I know. We will get a new Omega as well.”

“I broke her?”

“You broke her. Additionally, she is no good here. We definitely need someone who has direct access to High Command and the data base, but if this someone can’t handle the weirdness of this crisis, they are useless.”

“You were not exactly nice to her.” wondered Lance.

“True. I am simply not happy about what High Command did lately. They failed keeping our department clean. From all branches in the world, the currently most important one got infiltrated. And it was our own agents who ended this farce, not High Command. They failed to manipulate the military. They failed to get these mysterious sidenotes about Springy out of the military. And now they appointed an Omega who is a fail as well. If High Command is not able to do the job they are meant to do, then we don’t need them.”

“Wow.” said Lance.

But Kitty just shrugged and sat down on the couch next to them, picking up the package leaflet of Mark’s painkillers to read through them.

“Oookay, I gather my notes and get ready for the flight.” said Springtrap after a short while “You think I can keep the droid for now?”

“Sure. After all, the European departments are better off than ours, so a single droid missing won’t hurt them.”

“Good. As much as I dislike being out of my bunny suit, going through this hellish flying shit without a body would probably be even worse… oh well, I get my stuff. Oh. And… thank you.”

“For what?” she asked, looking up.

“Having faith in me.”

 

 

“Sorry that you had to wait.” said Springtrap once he was in the car.

Vincent smiled.

“It’s all right. In fact I’d rather wait for you knowing that you’ll show up soon than waiting without knowing anything.”

“I needed a little bit longer to get my head right after spending time in one of these hellish iron bird machines.”

“Oh?”

“You know that it’s bad when the guts you’d lost thirty years ago still don’t want to fly.”

“We have that in common, then. We never really had the cash to go abroad, but the two times I went to England...” the older brother shuddered “They could have put me right next to our sisters after that.”

“Yep. Pretty much that. Anything new here?”

“Beside that we all watched you ending up in a pile of rubble?”

Springtrap looked away.

“They really should ban these camera drones.” he mumbled “It was a very dangerous, secret mission, and people have nothing better to do than film this shit and put it viral.”

“I think the right term is ‘it goes viral’, but I am not sure.”

“And I don’t care. Well.. yes, I got my ass handed to me pretty good. The body here is just a replacement I made some time ago, the real stuff will need some days of work.”

“It does not look any different.”

“Thanks the fur. I have a couple of bodies ready, mostly because I really don’t like to not have anything going on in my face. It’s weird when you want to blink and can’t because there is nothing that could blink.”

“What… what happened there?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Everyone knows that something happened. We saw the footage and felt it, even when nothing is there to see.”

“It harmed the Veil.”

“And this is bad?”

“Imagine a dam that holds of an entire ocean. You don’t want it to break. I dare to say that it’s the spires’ main purpose to tear it down. Which will pretty much be the end of our species. Maybe even life on earth as a whole. The higher-ups are not ready to believe this, mostly because they don’t want some sort of world-ending-scenario, but facts on the table, that is what I think, and I happen to be the one and only expert here.”

“This _is_ bad.”

“Indeed. But I’d like to talk about something else right now. It’s no use to panic. There’s nothing you could do. I am not even sure if I could do anything.”

“I got it. No more work-talk. But there is one more thing I… actually I wanted to ask you for some time now, but it never seemed to be right.”

“Well shoot it.”

Vincent nodded, and needed some moments to find the right words. Something that was unusual for him.

“So far I understood that… when a human dies, they move on, right?”

“In most cases yes.”

“Okay, but… what happens when they arrive at the other side? You said they will see what they expected to see in the afterlife. But what exactly?”

“You have to go a little bit more into detail.”

“Okay. If… if I die. Let’s just make this about me for example. If I die. What would I see?”

“Hm. Very much likely your family. I don’t think that I know your innermost wishes, not yet, but I’d say this.”

“They will be there?”

“Uh, not they. Something similar. The Fading Rooms will present you… let’s call them pictures. They act and behave like you expect them to do. But it’s only silvery mist brought into shape.”

“It’s fake then?”

“It’s your memories. Your wishes, dreams, expectations and demands. These are not fake, these are, in fact, you.”

“But what I get presented is just an illusion?”

“A summary of yourself. A reflection, if you want it.”

“Okay okay, but there are no people? I won’t go through the Rooms at the side of my wife? My actual wife?”

“You won’t. If you are lucky and die naturally, you won’t notice the difference. But in any case, it is your path. You are the only person in there, the rest is the doing of the Fading Rooms.”

“So, there are no dogs in heaven, after all.”

“There are no dogs. Or cats. If everything works as it should, you won’t ever meet someone else. Even if an undead happens to run into your path, you won’t notice them. They will blend into your story. Be a part of it. The more your actual death differs from a natural one, the more you will be able to look behind the scenes. But even then, it’s your pathway, and yours alone.”

“That sounds horrible.” said Vincent with genuine concern “I would leave everything behind? There’s not great meadow in Heaven where I wait for her to join me? Where we wait for our kids?”

“If you want it that way, there will be. But it’s all parts of yourself. Maybe Olivia will see something close to your version. Maybe you both will have your meadows. But the Vincent sitting on hers will not be you. Just her idea of you.”

“And this is supposed to be it?”

“Why are you angry?”

“I don’t just want to drop out of life. There’s things to do.”

“Well, and I didn’t want to be turned into this abomination. Death does not ask questions.”

“Are there ways to prevent this? Can’t I stay here?”

“Not in the long run, no.”

“But ghosts exist...?”

“Yes. Sometimes, people get caught up. Some want revenge, some, like you, think they have to finish their work, or refuse to leave their loved ones behind. But this is not how it is supposed to be. Even if you’d managed to stay here as a ghost, you will gradually fade. Pieces of yourself will break away, shards. You will erode. Your awareness will fade first. Reasoning. Your personality. Slowly, it will erode. You’ll break down more and more, until nothing of you is left but primordial urges and feelings, like fear, anger, hunger. When you reach this state, you will no longer be a person, but just a wraith. The very base of human nature in ghost-form. Even when you stay with most honorable intentions, you ultimately will end up like this. In fact, the stronger the feelings that hold you here are, the further you will go down this path before your connection to the living world is finally cut. It’s a downward spiral. Once you lose your grasp on what actually happens, you’ll start to act out thoughts, memories, and so on. You’ll start to harm people you originally wanted to protect. Ghosts might not have much power, but it’s their persistence that makes them dangerous.”

“I am meant to end up all alone. Did I got this right?”

“If you want to put it like that… The Rooms will welcome you, and care for you, for as long as you stay there. The better the memories you made in your life, the more pleasant your stay will be.”

“How pleasant could it possibly be? Nobody will be there.” said Vincent, still unable, or unwilling to believe “It will be a stage play, with me in every role, just wearing a different mask.”

“Again, you will barely notice. Unless you plan to get murdered in a horrible way.”

“Does this matter? It still happens, if I notice or not.”

“See, and that’s what you are wrong with. Once you enter the Rooms, it’s all about you. What you don’t know won’t happen.”

“Does this mean that a human could lead… any type of life? As long as they keep positive and think only the best about themselves, they will get their personal heaven?”

“No. You can’t really trick the system. Even people who murdered and are adamant that they did nothing wrong will not enter heaven, because, deep down, in their innermost human core, they know that they did wrong. The Nazi who slaughtered Jews maybe is able to silence his conscience by pretending that he only wanted to clean the world or whatever stupid crap was going on in this shit-flake he had instead of a brain, but there still is this voice. It is so old that it does not speak any language, it does not use words, and you cannot argue with it because the words you throw at it are meaningless. This voice knows. And that is enough. What we think and say is just the tip of the whole mountain of things that really go on.”

“So we are born with some sort of moral?”

“Not moral. No. Life. The will to live. Life knows that other life has this will as well. And as long as life does not defend itself, it somehow knows that ending other life is not right. You could call this a higher tier of survival instinct. Life defends itself, but it also wants life, as a whole, to remain. Only a very few humans are born without this voice. But all are born with a mind that can stray from instincts. People teach their kids what is right and what not. Nazis got told that they can murder Jews and disabled persons and gays and people of color since these are not real people. A mind is able to silence life. But just because you lock it up in the basement and throw the key away doesn’t mean that you’ll get rid of it. At least, once you have to leave the house behind, the door unlocks, and even the nicest carpet won’t save you from what this voice has to say about you.”

“That is quite a picture.”

“Everyone will get what they deserve. We are our own judges. Maybe there are gods or spirits who put this systems into charge, but if, then they left it behind long ago.  But anyway. Why do you ask me things like this? It’s not our usual topic. In fact, I’d be more happy to talk about cats and potatoes.”

Vincent starred at the road ahead, and again, he seemed to think what to answer.

“You know… lately, I… many people start to think about death. Since it is basically all around you these days. You once said that the Veil tries to keep mortals blind about the truth. Well, it seems that it is no longer that good at doing this. People talk about the Fading Rooms. People who never, ever, had the chance to personally talk to an undead use this term. They wonder what happens. Those who know that I know you come to me to ask questions. And… and yes, even I wonder. Not that I would like to make anyone worry, but I’m not getting younger. And heart problems run in the family.”

“I know.” said Springtrap quietly.

“It’s foolish to think of my own demise when the world is in danger, but...”

“But what? You are the main person in your story. In the end, you will walk your paths, you will face your own judgment. It’s not that you could call in people to advocate for you just because you put their interests before your own.”

Vincent didn’t say anything else.

 

 

**15.01.2021 – The Artificer**

 

 

“Don’t touch anything, it could blow up.” said Springtrap.

Kitty, who just had opened the door a tiny little bit, slowed down. Carefully peeking into the laboratory.  
He had tidied up. Mostly to have space for… whatever new he had found.

“I don’t see anything dangerous.” she mused while entering.

“You won’t see germs as well and still they could kill you.”

“Point taken. What are you doing?”

“Making progress.”

“Ah. Care do go a little bit into detail?”

He waved her to come over to his desk. Once there, Springtrap handed her a small vial filled with… something. It looked like black, transparent gas, but behaved a little bit like a liquid.

“Ah.” said Kitty once again.

“I call it Nightmare Fuel.”

“Aha.”

“I found it around the spire after Mark had his way with it. It has some extreme energy density. With this little bit here you could drive to Texas and all the way back again.”

“It reminds me unpleasantly of the stuff that held the floating body parts of the shattered together.”

“Well spotted. In fact it might be the same type of substance. The most important difference is, this here was made by our world.”

“How?”

“A chain reaction. Mark’s foreign sorcery caused the spire to phase out of existence for three point six five six one seconds. When it re-entered our reality, it heated up the surrounding air creating the thunder we heard, as well as burning his right arm away. Since Mark changed the properties of the spire’s material, for once it reacted with the Earth’s magnetic field, which induced the weak electromagnetic blast that did so much damage to the surrounding area. The Nightmare Fuel in turn was created when the blast hit the spire. The metal is conductive while not being conductive. And since energy can’t get lost, our reality decided to turn the blast into this.”

“Fascinating.”

“You will be quite more fascinated when I tell you that it’s not really hard to recreate this all in a controlled environment, giving me access to basically limitless fuel that I can use for my creations.”

“And now you caught me again.” she said with a grin “Does this mean all your nice toys work now?”

“They will, once I configure them to run on fuel. I might be even able to create some sort of automatic fuel generator that could be build into, for example, a tank. Made of purple glass. Or a shield generator. Or a heavily armed aircraft. Or a huge electro-canon. A building-sized killer robot. Spaceships.”

Kitty tilted her head back.

“Oh Springy, you know how to talk to a simple girl like me!” she moaned.

“Great. Now that you’re all hot and bothered, take this here.” and he shoved a riffle into her hands.

“What is it?”

“It goes pew pew. Do you need to know more? Shooting range three is all yours.”

She didn’t need to be told twice.

Springtrap nodded happily as she almost bounced away, and returned to his research. Reproducing the happenings was hard. At least if he wanted to avoid more lost body parts. He was still unable to pin down what exactly had happened to the spire while Mark had touched it. Everything else was rather well documented, thanks to the supervision installed all around the spire. Sure, most of the cameras and sensors had been damaged, but their data was mostly intact. Springtrap compared readings, drew tables, and did some math. But mostly he just tried to imagine what could have happened. He needed a portion of physics to make it work in the real world, but he had yet to find out where he was supposed to stick with the laws and where he could deviate.

“Don’t touch anything, it could explode.” he said the second he heard the door opening.

“Is that a threat or a promise?” asked Weasel.

“A promised threat. Same as I told Kitty.”

“Oh, she is here? Where?”

Springtrap didn’t look up, but grinned slightly. He pushed a button, and one screen on his desk switched over to shooting range three. Kitty laughed maniacally while bombarding holographic targets with purple energy blasts.

“I want one of these and I want it _now_.” said Weasel.

“I have a pistol that does the same, but weaker. Range two is free.”

And like Kitty before her, Weasel rushed away.

Springtrap turned down the audio of the screen, and continued his brooding.

He assumed that, since Mark and the spires had the same origin, realizing physical contact between the two closed some sort of circuit. So far, all reported spires had at least twenty four point seventy six kilometers between them. Most were farther away from each other, but at least a handful had this exact distance between them – a number too odd to be a coincidence. And beside Mark, no other foreign undead had ever been registered. Given the fact that Mark himself had not been able to leave his original place on his own, it could be possible that the black corridors deliberately introduced disabled undead to make sure that they would not accidentally make contact to a spire. While these undead were not able to be found from the distance, maybe their surroundings were. In Mark’s case, the time split appeared somewhere between the attack on his girlfriend’s home and the Agency’s arrival. While the individual lives of the three Marks seemed to be different, this major event was the most outstanding one. Undead Mark had been murdered on spot, perhaps in a version of history where undead appeared randomly. Ghost Mark had been killed in Philadelphia, while the real Mark never had been harmed at all. Undead Mark had brought himself, his lower half, a couple of robots, and the chainsaw he had been murdered with. Ghost Mark had brought his corpse, two murderers, and his girlfriend who had reported him missing with him, and maybe even more. These three time strands obviously parted at the farm. So, by actively searching for things like doubled people, one could possibly track down foreign undead as well. Which, actually, was not necessary right now.

Back to the actual topic.

He had to find out how Mark’s sorcery had interacted with the spire. From what he gathered at the place, it did not enter the Fading Rooms. Maybe it phased out into the black corridors? That would mean that there was an actual place behind these. Which was different, but ultimately not _that_ different from the Rooms. If it was only Mark’s very own sorcery that caused this, then a simple tool enchanted by him could do the trick. A torch maybe. Springtrap was sure he could fashion some sort of device that would envelope a spire to prevent the EMP. After all, his kryptomagnetism was rather good interfering with natural occurring radiation of every kind. It just needed a little fine tuning. Could it really be this simple? If yes, this was a major flaw in the plan. Whoever was behind this all was brilliant, but still dumb. These ideas were sky-high, just not very broad. This would need some testing. Luckily, there were enough spires around.

He started sketching a little. The protection could be installed by a robot, since these were not effected by the spire’s powers. Ideally, this robot could also perform the whole action, and stay in stand-by, should the spire recover from this assault. There was still an unpredictable variable: Shattered ones. Byzantium had been the first spire to create one. Why, that could not been said. Would a shattered one try to protect its spire? That would not require much active thinking, so maybe yes. But then again, whoever had made them had proven themselves to be sloppy, easily overseeing possibilities to work against them. The fact alone that prototype specters existed. Or that the spires, being the actual core of this whole campaign, did not posses any intelligence to speak of. More and more Springtrap had the feeling that something was missing within this all. Someone to orchestrate it. A central mind. Everything that happened since the hives went online had been automated. If there would have been someone behind it, they could have easily changed the way the webworks functioned, to disallow Springtrap to turn them purple. But this didn’t happen. It had always been the same.

“Don’t touch anything, it can and will explode.” he said once again.

“I know bro.”

“Ah. Lance. Got the fresh air you needed?”

“Yeah. Ya should take break as well, ya know? Could help ya. Oh hey. Is that Kitty?”

Springtrap threw a look at the screen.

“Yep.”

“What’s she doin’?”

“Smoking.”

“Huh?”

“I heard people do this when they had a good time. And she definitely enjoyed being the first living human in history trying out an actual laser riffle.”

Lance put his glasses on his muzzle and took a closer look.

“Didn’t know that she’s a smoker.”

“She doesn’t smell like a regular.”

“I almost can see the cash burnin’ away there.”

“You did it yourself?”

“Nah, but my wife. It’s expensive as fuck and the tobacco ya can buy in the slums is usually laced.”

“You were poor but she could smoke?”

“I handed her an amount of cash each month, she could do with that what she wanted. Yeah we had some fights ‘bout this with me sayin’ that she should use this money on the kids instead of ruinin’ her health and so on. Whatever. She’s dead. Kids are dead. I’m dead. Let’s fuck physics.”

“Okay. What’s on your mind?”

“The jetpack?”

“I have the pieces ready, so we could mend them together. You are eager to try this one, eh?”

“Sure am. If it works like ya said this could be… very, very great.”

Springtrap got up from his seat.

“Good, fine, you know what to do. I need a stable Aegis for as long as I bind the enchantments together.”

“Roger that.”

Just some minutes later, Weasel came out of the shooting range. She had enjoyed this, but sadly, there were other things to do.  
What she saw when she came back into the main lab reminded her why she usually stayed out.  
Two meters in the air, an orange bubble of light floated. And within it, a circular lightning welded floating pieces of brightly glowing glass together.  
Lance and Springtrap were standing around the bubble, arms in the air, starring at it with intense levels of concentration.

Weasel decided that the thing she originally had planned to tell Springtrap could wait a little bit longer. And that her aim could use a little more fine-tuning.  
She was pleased that the more esoteric happenings were done with when she left the shooting range the next time.  
The fact that the not amused stag robot was firmly pressed against the ceiling while the bunny furiously made notes was tolerable.

Weasel put the pistol on the table, and threw a quick glance up.

“Is this supposed to happen?” she asked innocently.

“Shaddap.” barked Lance.

“Is that a no?”

“For some reason it does not pick up Lance’s thoughts.” bubbled Springtrap “I have no idea why not maybe because I made it and it is attuned to my mind and not able to switch to someone else this is definitely bad and I have to figure this out if I ever want to make something that you guys can use oh boy good that he tested it in here just imagine he went outside like I told him to do he would probably be in orbit about now.”

Weasel cautiously walked over to Springtrap, and looked at his blueprints and notes. He had a pretty handwriting. That was all she could tell. Whatever he had sketched and written down there was just so obscure that her mind refused to take it in. In fact, the blueprint… changed. I front of her eyes, lines reshaped, writing disappeared, words popped up somewhere else. This had not happened to his earlier works. At least not those Weasel had snatched out of his lab to look at them. This probably meant that his craft had finally left the reach of mortal comprehension.

“Hey Weasel, be a peach and give him a smack.” said Lance from above.

“Why?”

“So he drops out of his thinkin’ spree and gets me the fuck down.”

“As you wish...”

And she gently slapped Springtrap’s bunny ears.

He looked up at her. And followed her arm pointing at the ceiling.

“Oh.” he said.

Once Lance was on the ground again, and the new device deactivated, Weasel used the awkward silence to finally deliver her message.

“The new Omega arrived.” she said “There will be a briefing this afternoon.”

“Ugh, so I have to explain all this shit yet again.” mumbled Springtrap.

“I am afraid so.”

“Do they finally know what ‘mysterious’ news the scouts have found?”

“Somewhat, yes. But so far, High Command doesn’t want you to know it.”

“Oh great.”

“It is a theory that needs validation. Our people are currently trying to locate the place where the military suspected this information to be. It is in, or at least near Boston, that is the reason they were unable to look into this place themselves, with the peacemaker occupation and all that.”

“Great. At least we don’t have to fly again. Okay, facts on the table, it’s something about me. And it’s hidden in Boston. Somewheeeere. Why does this feel so airy?”

“The military thinks that you are one of Fazaka’s scientists pretending to be William Afton.”

Springtrap stared at her, his mouth agape.

“WHAT?!”

She nodded.

“It is stupid, I know. If you want to hear my personal theory: Fazaka had a couple of laboratories all around the eastern states, and Boston was the seat of Freddy's. So, it’s not unusual that some are hidden here. Adding the fact that you are the only one left, and resurfaced under more than curious circumstances, it does not need much imagination to come up with tome story behind this.”

“Okay. Okay okay. I got why the army was against me. When they really were thinking… but… but you guys not, are you? I told you my whole life. I am not some guy pretending to be me.”

“I believe you. Many other people here believe you. I think High Command also wants to believe you. But this information had prompted the military to take so much risk by infiltrating us. They won’t do this based on only some superstition. You will need to proof your point in the briefing today. Better prepare yourself.”

 

 

“The military had access to files and data that we could not search through.” said the new Omega, a thin, black man.

“Oh great, and because of this you people are willing to believe this?”

“No, but we are willing to give it a look.”

“You guys know everything I did. I have nothing to do with Fazaka.”

“The military obviously thought that a genius was behind this. Unfortunately, this also is High Commands view.”

Springtrap threw the paper away and crossed his arms.

“Genius, indeed. Fazaka’s earliest notes are from ‘70. I’ve been such a genius that I created sophisticated robots at the age of five. Much genius. Oh wait, even a genius needs some time to do all this, right? Let’s say ten years for prototyping. So, I started my quest for world domination before I even was borne. Much genius such intellect.”

“Please stay calm.”

“I am calm. Very calm. Okay, maybe I am a little bit angry because the stupid soldiers put resources into this shit instead of their actual job. And angry that you guys are willing to buy it? You know my entire life. There’s still my brother you could ask. The graves of the kids you could visit. I did not work for Fazaka.”

“Your connection to both Fazbear Entertainment and Fazaka is undeniable.” continued Omega.

“I was maid-of-all-work in a pizzeria. In my madness I wanted to be close to kids so I could sell them to my own abuser. I had no ‘connection’ to the actual business.”

“From what we got, you had much talent working with the animatronics, even without any proper training. In intern documents, your manager described you as a natural, who was born to do this kind of work. And even today, you are the only one who grasps enough of Fazaka’s technology to work with it.”

“Yes. And does this make me a criminal?”

“No, but it makes you suspicious.”

Springtrap sighed, and rubbed his face.

“Alright.” he said “What exactly do you want to hear from me? I know that my life has been strange, and it hasn’t gotten any better since my death. Yes, I was one of the guys who did bad things at Freddy’s, but surely not the only one. I don’t know anything that hasn’t to do with the work I did. Maybe I am a natural when it comes to robots. Yes. I was insane. I still am not exactly neurotypical. Mad scientist, you know? I could have started to work at a gas station, like my brother did. Then I would not have any ‘connection’ to Fazaka at all.”

Omega didn’t response. He listened to High Command, waiting for their decision.

This was an official briefing, so there were many people sitting in the large room. The huge screen at the wall showed different fragments of Fazaka text. Documents where Boston was named as the central place of development. The military had not been willing to believe in a coincidence that Springtrap had been found here. It was not that hard to pretend to be someone else when this someone had been dead for thirty years.

“After all, the US army won’t do anything like this without enough proof.” said Omega.

“Oh sure, they are very reasonable. Brilliant, even. So much so that they hide in a huge-ass fortress that is known in the entire world for being their lair, and then they are surprised when someone actually attacks them there. Very, very reasonable.”

“Please stay calm.”

“Guys. Really. I told you all that happened to me. You know everything about me there is to know. I told you all. Why would I stay silent about some crucial information? Why would I- why would someone pretend to be ME? From all possible people to mimic in this world, why the sorry little sucker named William Afton?”

“That is something we still try to figure out. You have to admit that you had some time at your hands. Time which you could have used to gather information about someone else. From what we know, the Fading Rooms contain all memories. You would pick someone with a matching story, who had not a high enough profile on his own.”

“And then I decided to work for you. Tell me why I would do this?”

“Maybe you fear us?”

Springtrap looked at him.

“Fear you? You guys are badly organized. You are too slow, too bureaucratic, too polite to be an actual threat. Everything the Agency managed to achieve since the robots started their war you owe to me. Why would I work towards destroying the thing I made happen in the first place? This is stupid.”

“Again, maybe you fear the consequences, should your actual involvement-”

“I am dead. There is nothing for me to fear. Well...” Springtrap looked aside, his voice dropped. “In fact, there is. I am perfectly well aware that you placed bugs all around my brother’s home. Because you know that this is the only thing that I fear. Something happening to them – you guys doing something to them. While the mole commander was in charge, I used the bugs myself, to make sure you guys won’t harm my brother. My family. I don’t have anything left on this world but them. That much you know. Does this not confirm the fact that I am me? Why would some random dude be concerned about Vincent Afton’s health? I am, because he is my brother. We grew up in the same home, under the same abusive parents. He cared for me when nobody else did. He searched for me when I was gone. He didn’t forget about me, even after thirty two years. But beside him? Beside the people I learned to love? There’s nothing you could do. I am me. And not some mad Fazaka scientist who tries to hide by playing someone else.”

Omega nodded.

“You made your point. And High Command is willing to believe you. While this does not solve our current problem, we can at least be assured that you are not behind the schemes of Fazaka. At least not knowingly.”

“What do you mean?”

New information appeared on screen. Beside a couple of papers and notes, there were also pictures of something that looked like the entrance to a bunker.  
Springtrap starred confusedly at the screen.

“Most of the records in the Octagon are heavily damaged.” started agent Omega his speech “The computer systems are in most cases beyond repair, but luckily, Fazaka’s army had no use for paper. We found reports about the army’s excavation of the Alaska factory complex, which the Agency and military performed together shortly after the re-opening of the safe rooms hidden in most Freddy Fazbear pizzerias. Pretty much like us, the military did not share all of their findings. The papers we so far have looked at for example, but also more information about the early days of Fazaka Robotics Industry. High Command, as well as the Global Council, had drastically underestimated the urgency of the case, or else we would have tried to get these information sooner. With the war breaking out, it was even more difficult. So far, the fall of the Octagon is lucky, because we were finally able to get crucial pieces for this puzzle. While we first assumed that the Alaska plant had been the heart and brain of Fazaka, the place where they developed and tested their technology before introducing it to the field tests that were running in the pizzerias, we now know that this is not the case. The oldest documents recovered speak of a place not far from Boston, which seems to be where it all begun. An unnamed, but high-ranking specialist, maybe even the original founder, operated from here, and now we know that we have to take a look at this well hidden place. And this will be what we do next. Thankfully, the war and peacemaker occupation had hindered the military to break into this place before us. And you will be part of the team doing this.”

“You’re kidding me.” responded Springtrap.

“Frankly, we don’t. While High Command is willing to believe you, the fact that there is this place of immense interest that is connected to a man responsible for the start of the world’s most dangerous chain of events which also happened in the very city that houses the last remaining employee of the enterprise is still bothering us.”

“I literally cleaned dishes and scrubbed the floor. I’m not… oh well… it’s not use. Probably better this way. Who knows what horrors they buried there.”

“I am glad that you see it this way. Additionally, we hope that unearthing these secrets will finally end this debate about your actual nature.”

“Which debate?”

“We will see.”

“Oh screw your secrecy.”


End file.
